


A Thousand May Fall At Your Side

by starkind



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Terminator Salvation (2009)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Fusion, BAMFs, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Mild Language, Movie: Terminator Salvation, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-08-24 06:15:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 23,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8360566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: When Tony Stark created Starknet, little did he know it would end the world as he knew it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, okay, this is... an experiment. If it fails, it will at least count for archiving measures. This is strictly Terminator Salvation movieverse, seeing I have no intention to mess with my childhood hero Arnie and the first two BAMF movies! I haven't seen/don't remember any other Terminator verses, so of course, it's gotta be Bale. Well, Bale and Downey Jr., because that's my jam.

_~prolog~  
_

_When Tony Stark created Starknet, little did he know it would end the world as he knew it. Originally developed to end wars and political conflicts on earth, the AI program soon became self-aware and perceived humanity to be a threat. Despite Stark's fervent tries to shut it down, Starknet launched nuclear warheads at other countries, leading to the nuclear holocaust of Judgment Day._

_In a post-apocalyptic world several years later, Starknet now controls a global empire from its heavily guarded fortress-factories and research installations. Outside of its facilities, mechanized units from the so-called 'Iron Legion' wage a constant war with the Resistance._

_Tony Stark has been reported missing ever since._

_To be able to infiltrate Starknet's base in Palmdale, California, and put an end to the reign of terror, John Conner, a battle-hardened guerrilla fighter as well as commander and leader of an independently organized resistance cell group in LA called Tech-Com, has been brought in. Trained in hand-to-hand combat and tactical weaponry, he is one of the most effective underground fighters the Resistance has to offer._

_His mission is to destroy as many enemy cells as possible, obtain all kinds of classified data vital to the machines, and rescue potential prisoners._

* * *

Dust blew over the vast area of the Mojave Desert. Its smell was acerbic, vomit-inducing, and the small crew of seven tightened their mouthpieces even more. Gravel crunched under their combat boots as they moved forward with caution, under the guise of an ever-present blanket of smog. Switching off the safety lock of his HK416, John Connor squinted against the sand in his eyes.

Temperatures were high in their 90s and combined with a low humidity, it left all of team Tech-Com suffering inside their heavy armors and combat dresses, even at an early morning mid-May. Their destination loomed up like a dark, massive cube amidst the lowlands. In an attempt to get closer to the Starknet facilities in Palmdale, John had decided to take out as many subsidiaries around the area as possible.

After clearing out a waterworks in Pasadena, and two power stations in Lancaster, they were now in an abandoned air force plant not far from Palmdale. Tech-Com moved forward to eventually split up into teams of two. One switch and John's one-eyed night vision came to life. He slipped through the abandoned sections of the facility alone; looking for threats and prisoners while securing the perimeter and remote areas.  
  
After winding his way through dust-covered remains of computer terminals and gooey substances from smashed Petri dishes on the floor, his comm gave a short blip. “Those codes we received aren't working, John.” His brows furrowed in irritation as he listened to his best hacker's soft cursing. “Fuckin intel. Send me a screenshot.” Connor hoisted his rifle upon his back to examine the other man's work on his datapad.  
  
“Someone's been changing them just recently. That's no code whatsoever linked to Starknet.”  
  
Then he heard it. A small shuffle, to the far back of the dark laboratory he was just in. In an instant, his rifle was back in shooting position, as John crouched for cover behind a tall working bench made of steel. Strained breathing could be heard before footsteps started to move away. John made a soundless switch from night to thermal vision on his goggles.  
  
He was able to make out a single body five rows ahead of him, trying to crouch away. And then John Connor moved as quick, stealthy, and precise as always. “Freeze!” At the click of his HK 416, the man got back to his knees but held his hands up in surrender. Gun trained on the heaving back at his feet, John inched nearer, cautious, and licked his cracked lips.

When he switched on the light mount from his rifle, the person winced at the change in luminance.  
“Turn around, hands above your head!”  
No second later, a man in his early forties stared back up at him; eyes wide with fear.  
  
“Don't shoot! Don't fuckin shoot! I'm not armed... I'm the only one here, I don't...” His voice overturned from the hasty gulps of breath he took. He had scraggly dark brown hair that almost went down to his shoulders and an equally wild looking beard. Not moving an inch, John set the fire selector lever to save and took his finger off the hammer.  
  
“I know you. I've-- seen your face.”  
  
Disbelief and irritation mingled within his voice. The man coughed some more and scrambled to his feet, slowly taking his hands down until they were at his sides. Something like mockery flittered over his features. “Yeah? Well, I don't know yours, bucko. Might wanna introduce yourself here.” In a swift and unforeseen blow, the shoulder stock of John's assault rifle connected with his temple.

He went down with a small groan, out cold in an instant.  
Connor loomed above him, one side of his face scrunched up with unmasked loathing.  
His fingers gripped the hand guard of his rifle tightly.  
  
“My name's John Connor, asshole.”

No sooner than he had the man bound and gagged, John left the facility the way he had entered it; carrying his unconscious prisoner in a strong fireman's carry. His HK 416 was slung over one shoulder, but his semi-automatic was out and in its position. Then his in-ear comm buzzed again.

“John? We're in!”  
With a grunt, Connor readjusted the deadweight on his shoulders.  
“Copy. Once the area is swept clear, set detonators for 0.08 and head for extraction point asap.”  
  
Outside, his motorcycle awaited him, and John threw the unmoving body square across its tank. He had thirty miles to go until he would reach their destination. John then pushed the Mark 23 back in its holster and reached for his comm in between aching fingers. “ Bravo 10 to base. Mission accomplished. Heading for extraction point 0-0-9, Edwards AFB. ETA in 10. Over.”

Putting his bandana above his nose, John slipped his helmet on, fired the bike up, and sped off into the dawn of the approaching day.


	2. Chapter 2

Back at the bunker, another group of Resistance fighters had arrived shortly before John's squadron. Their leader, a tall blonde in a battle-worn uniform, stood amid a circle of men and women, arms akimbo and voice commanding. “Any attempt to shut down its defenses for good is going to fail, unless we know its ultimate weakness.”

“That's easy – it doesn't have any.”  
John's voice, quiet but pervading, still caused all of them to turn around. Steve Rogers harrumphed.  
“So you're saying we shouldn't even try? That it?”  
   
From the way he sneered, he was more than dismayed at the interruption. Connor held his gaze, unyielding. “Not to try would mean to surrender. But we have to thoroughly consider all options.” The blonde erupted in a mirthless chuckle and glimpsed at his second in command, James Barnes. “Not too many options left, right Bucky? Tell the great John Connor what we've seen.”  
  
Steve's voice was mocking on purpose. Before Barnes could speak up, John shook his head. “Doesn't matter when you got the right option.” No sooner than he stepped aside to reveal the person standing in the doorway, an audible gasp rippled through the rows. Tony Stark, with his hands shackled in front of his lap, darted nervous eyes along the rows of many shocked faces staring back at him.

Murmurs erupted from the crowd. Stark presented a less than perfect picture of his former billionaire industrialist image. Tatters of what once had been an expensive business suit hung off his meanwhile too thin frame, while his hair and face were dirt-smeared, bloodied and unkempt in equal shares. Voices began to pipe up.

“Is that...?”

“No way!”

“That bastard is still alive?!”

Before he knew it, a dozen muzzles were aimed at Stark's face and body. It was John Connor who stepped in front of him and held up a hand. “Stark is a prisoner who falls under my jurisdiction. He will not get subjected to harm. Anybody violating that rule will have to answer to me personally.” His cold stare ran along the many hostile looking Resistance members.

Many of them soon lowered their gazes, and simultaneously their weapons, upon making direct eye contact. Steve Rogers was one of the last people to keep his head up. He jabbed a gloved finger at John. “You brought him here, and you're gonna bring the machines 'round here as well!” From where he was busy unfastening the collar of his combat suit, Connor slowly glanced up.

“Just like you did, during your last recon mission four weeks ago, _Captain_ Rogers?” Sarcasm dripped from John's lips, and it caused Rogers to tighten his hands into fists. “One of these days, Connor, I'm gonna wipe that arrogant smirk off your face.” With a brisk move, Steve shook off the cautionary hold Barnes had on his chest and left.  
   
“Wow, you guys are having real team building issues here.”  
John took his eyes off Rogers' retreating back and gripped the upper arm of his mouthy hostage.  
“Move.”

Stark found himself led away by rough hands which dragged him further down the basement of the large bunker. It was a cell block, Tony soon discovered, after being shoved into a small room, and listening to the massive door slamming shut behind him. He was up and against it in a second, peeking through the small observation slit and banging his palms flat against the door.

“I want to speak to someone who's in charge 'round here! I know my rights!”  
His aggressor turned around one last time in the neon-lit corridor and caught his eye.  
“ _I_ am in charge, and the only right you have is to shut up, Stark. Otherwise I'll make you shut up.”

Taken aback by the harsh tone, Tony swallowed and backed off the door, inspecting his surroundings. His cell was no bigger than six by eight feet, with some floor mat that served as a bed. A bucket stood in the corner; otherwise the room was empty. When he glimpsed back at the door, the other man was gone. With a sigh, Tony flopped down on the mattress and began to count the cracks in the concrete.

After the first hour, commotion outside made him look up from the floor. A foreign face peeked at him through the slit. The sound of a lock being turned followed shortly after, to which a small metal flap inside the door lowered. A plate and a bottle appeared, and Stark rose to his feet, stomach growling. “Room service?” His quip echoed in the small room and faded, unanswered.

The flap closed soundly shut right after he had taken both items in his possession. It turned out to be nothing more than a piece of stale bread and some equally stale, slightly sour water, but Tony's hunger and thirst won out. No sooner than he had greedily gobbled up the sparse ration, the door slammed open again, revealing two masked figures in what looked to be dirty yellow decontamination suits.

Unable to see their faces, any protests Tony might have had got drowned in some disinfectant-smelling liquid from a hose that hit his face and body. As he lay on the ground, shivering and recovering from the unwanted cold douse, one of the eerily masked figures hauled him to his feet. Still woozy, Tony did not notice the whirring sound until dark strands of hair began to fall left and right from his head.

“NO! HEY! LET GO OFF ME - HEY!”

The hands that worked the clipper were relentless; the more he struggled, the tighter the grip around his shoulders would become. Eventually, Tony resigned to having his hair and beard cropped short. Once they were done, they dumped him back on the dripping wet mattress and left him in the dark.

 


	3. Chapter 3

After a restless, cold night filled with headaches and chest pain, Tony jerked out of an unsteady slumber from a loud bang, followed by a booming voice. He started and all but winced as the chains rattled around his body. “Up. You've been summoned for kitchen duty.” Sleep-drunken, Tony stumbled to his feet, shackles once again clanking in the semi-dark.  
  
“Wha--”  
A strong grip yanked him forward on his restraints, and Tony almost stumbled and fell.  
“Fuck, you jerk, stop pushing me around!”  
  
His back hit the wall with a dull thud immediately after. Up close, Connor's face looked drawn. “You keep your fucking mouth shut and walk, and you and I won't get any more problems.” “At least take these off”, Tony held up his shackles and his chin in defiance. “It's not like I got much choice in running off to anywhere. Most guys 'round here wanna see me dead anyhow, so you'd be lucky if I end with a bullet to the brain.”

Connor stared at him as if trying to gauge Stark's objection. After several more heartbeats, he had made up his mind. A click later, Tony was rubbing his sore wrists and threw the other man a withering look. John's fingers clasped like a steel vise around his bicep. “Walk. No cheap tricks.” After winding through some dark tunnels that all looked the same, they ended up in a large, fairly lit room.

From the smell, Tony immediately knew it was the kitchen; even if the equipment was more than sparse and run-down. A handful of people were around, all of them female or children. Connor propelled him in front of an elder, resolute woman with thick, graying hair tied back into a neat bun. “Keep an eye on him, Amanda. If he starts making any kind of trouble, let me know.”

She gave Tony's nervous form a grim once over before she turned back to the tall man in combat gear. “Doesn't look like anything I can't handle, John.” He gave so much of a curt nod, did not look at Tony again, and left the kitchen. The woman pointed to a huge basket at their feet, filled to the brim with grubby potatoes. “Rinse and scrub, then peel. 20 pounds.”

Stark, incensed and incredulous at the same time, spread his arms in visible protest.

“What?! Like hell I will! What's this here – a fuckin POW camp?!” The lady brushed the back of her hand against her temple and raised the pan in her hand in a menacing gesture. “You heard the man, punk. All it takes is one call and you'll be right back in your cell – minus that nice, even front row of teeth. I know John well enough to be able to tell when he's joking. He wasn't.”  
  
Tony fretted for a couple of heartbeats. John. At least he now had a name for his tormentor. “That guy wouldn't know a joke if it came to sit on his face.” Grudgingly, he bent down to haul the basket over to a sink filled with semi-clear water, all the while mumbling unintelligible things to himself. His mouth wrinkled in disgust as he pushed his tattered sleeves up to his elbows and began to do as he was told.

The water was cold and smelled of chemicals. Tony tried to hold his breath until he was done. Plopping back down on the hard metal bench, he then started chopping. The knife was even duller than he had estimated, negating his chances to use it as a possible weapon. Soon, the elder woman walked over to him, peeked over his shoulder, and smacked the back of his shaved head immediately after.  
  
“What the heck you're doing? You're chopping off far too much. Damn fool!”  
Enraged, Tony threw the small knife upon the table.  
“I fuckin' don't know how to do this, okay?!”  
  
Dauntless, the woman pushed her meaty arms akimbo and glowered at him. “Then you'll better start growing some sense and learn you privileged punk!” Amanda reached down into the bucket and took out the butchered remains of his attempts. “If I don't get all of my boys and girls properly fed, then heaven help ya.” Stark said nothing, propped his head up in his palms and groaned.

As he sat and massaged his thumping temples, a dark head full of curls appeared at his side. Bewildered, Tony took his hands away and stared down at a little girl who looked at him with serious eyes. She then grasped for the knife and held it out to him. Tony took it with a lopsided smirk. “Thanks, sweetheart, but that doesn't change the fact I'm not blessed in the lower kitchen duty department.”

Amanda never so much cast him a look and continued to throw pans and large, dented pots around.  
  
“She doesn't speak.”  
Dumbfounded, Tony looked from the brown-eyed girl over to the woman named Amanda and back.  
“Why's that?”

“Star doesn't speak, she's mute. Was when she got here. Kyle uses sign language with her.” Not knowing who Kyle was, and not caring at all, Tony nodded absentmindedly and stroked the stubble leftovers of his beard. Star watched his every move through astute eyes. He offered her his palm. “Well little lady, even if you don't speak, at least show me how I don't mess this up any further.”

From the corner of her eye, Amanda watched on in baffled silence how Star slid upon the vacant chair next to Stark and started teaching him how to peel a potato with little to no loss. The dark-haired man kept on talking to her, his voice soft and gentle, even if she would not respond. At some point, he must have made a joke, because while he himself was chuckling, Star broke into a small, timid smile.

Amanda Weller was near sure it had been the very first smile she had seen on the girl's face, ever since her arrival at the bunker over a month ago. Forcing a stern look back upon her face, Amanda then left the three large pots of soup on the crooked stove and came to collect the yield. Expectant, Tony stopped stripping peel off his thumb and looked at her. She huffed.  
  
“Looks edible. Take the remains and throw 'em in the compostor.” Star remained sitting, legs dangling in mid-air and watched him shove a huge pile of potato peel into the now empty bucket. With his hands full, Tony turned to wink at the little girl before he gave Amanda the best endearing smile he could muster up.  
  
“And where would that compostor be, Ma'am?”

 


	4. Chapter 4

In a room that had been designated as a makeshift gym, John Connor stood and took out all of his frustrations upon a battered punching bag.

The small area stank of mold and stale sweat and had the most basic equipment imaginable, but at least it provided some source of distraction. His jacket and weaponry holsters lay in a heap at his feet as John pummeled the rough leather with relentless blows, causing grain and sand to ripple out and onto the floor in a steady flow. His harsh panting filled the air, and his white wifebeater was near transparent from sweat.

“John? John! Come! Come quick!”  
Stopping in mid-punch, he looked up and saw Amanda standing in the doorway, looking distressed.  
“They're gonna kill him.”

Dropping his fists, John reached for his gun and followed her over towards the auditorium. Under the watchful eyes of a dozen of cheering men, Barnes and Rogers were taking turns in giving Tony Stark a sound beating. The latter was already on his knees, trying to block the unrelenting blows from both sides with little success. John amped up his walk until he was almost running.  
  
He pushed through the circle that had formed around the fight and sent Barnes flying to the ground with a forceful kick to the back. When the dark-haired man swung around, furious at the disruption, he was met with a Mark 23 right in between his eyes. John's face distorted with untamed rage. “Get the fuck away from him! Both of you!” Red in the face with fury, Steve Rogers raged on, even in the grip of three other men.  
  
“What the fuck is it with you, Connor? Why are you protecting this creep?” When no reply came, Rogers jabbed an arm at Tony's writhing form. “He's responsible for all of this hell we're living in! Fuck, John, he literally killed your parents!” Murmurs from the crowd around them erupted. John narrowed his eyes and lowered his gun. “He's a prisoner. He gets the trial he deserves. This is no blood court here, Steven. Stand down.”  
  
He paired his succinct speech with a sinister, glaring look into the many doubtful faces around.  
“All of you, back to your stations. Now!”  
Reluctantly, people complied. Rogers and Barns cast some dark glances back, which he ignored.

From where Stark lay on the floor, curled together in a heap, Connor eventually squatted down next to him. “Can you walk?” Blood was seeping from the other man's nose, and through a laceration in his left eyebrow. Tony then nodded, almost too easy to miss, and scrambled to his feet. “Gotta get you patched up. C'mon.” John kept a precautionary hold on Stark's wobbling form all the way over to his quarters.

The shorter man stayed quiet even as he sat upon John's bunk, blinking against the little rivulets of blood running into his eyes. When he started to wipe at them with a dirty sleeve, John intervened. “Take off those rags, you'll get something else to wear.” Voice gruff, he then pointed at a medium-sized steel bowl on a nearby table. “Clean water is scarce. Use what's in there.”  
  
When he returned from the small alcove that held his sparse belongings, John found Stark still sitting in the same position as before. Impatient, he threw the small pile of clothes aside and stepped in front of the other man. “I don't have time for your fucking games, Stark. Hurry up.” Tony raised his head to meet his furious gaze. “And if I don't? Are you planning on beating the shit out of me, too? Just curious.”

His voice was a tad shaky, and one of his eyelids near swollen shut. Connor said nothing, looked away and positioned himself at a distance. “You've got five minutes. Afterward, you're back in that cell, any which way. Pick and choose.” When Stark eventually unbuttoned the remains of what used to be a blue shirt, John stared at the black bandages around his chest. Dark, solid fabric was wrapped around his torso multiple times.

Instantly perceiving a trap of some kind, Connor whipped out his Mark 23 and pointed it at Tony.

“What is that? Take it off!”

“I'd rather not..”

“I said take it off, for fuck's sake!”

With a sigh, Tony reached for his left side, tearing at the Velcro strips. He winced several times.  
“Don't say I didn't warn ya.”  
Once the wrapping was down, John Connor's eyes widened at the blueish circle in Stark's chest.

“Fuck, you are... they have...”  
  
He slowly started to lower his gun, eyes now darting from the oddity up to the other man's face. Tony let his chin sink to his chest and gave an audible sigh. The fingers of his right hand tapped against the glass plating in an offbeat rhythm. When he looked back up, surrender lay in his gaze. “I'm no machine if that's what you mean. But I got a little... souvenir in me, so to speak.” Stark gestured over to the bowl. “May I?”

Still perplex, John nodded. His eyes then took in the already darkening bruises all over Stark's back when he turned around to cup water in between his palms. “Where did you get it? Did they do this to you?” John had to wait for an answer while Stark lathered some of his curd soap onto his face. “You mean like a punishment? Nah.” After rinsing it off, Tony blindly groped around for a towel.

John inched closer and pushed a small, frayed cotton rag into his hands. With a grunt and a tender probe around his rib cage, Stark straightened up again. “When everything went FUBAR coupl'a years ago, I took a hit that left me with shrapnel right in here.” He pointed at his heart. His opposite followed his motion with his eyes but said nothing. Tony cocked his head.

“Some rural doctor saved my life. He installed an electromagnet in there to keep the shards from moving closer. At some point, I switched the original car battery for something with a little more... longevity.” He then glimpsed down at the rest of his body and went for the frazzled belt. “Are you going peeping tom on me while I finish up here?” John Connor, still thoughtful, hardened his posture once more.  
  
“Three minutes, Stark. Better get going.”

Tony managed to undress, wash, and towel himself dry in little over three minutes, but John paid it no mind. He kept his eyes at a spot on the wall, just above Tony's naked form. Once Stark wore clean clothes and a butterfly bandage upon the laceration in his eyebrow, Connor refastened the handcuffs and took him back to his cell. He was asleep on the hard floor the second he laid down.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Much to his surprise, Connor was back in front of his cell the next day, staring at Tony from the opposite side of the door.

From where he was lying down on his back, Stark wanted to spread his arms wide, hindered only by his shackled wrists. “C’mon in, I don’t bite.” No reaction whatsoever. Tony then shifted with difficulty, until he was able to prop himself up on his elbows. “Seriously, this is giving me real bad zoo vibes here. Get in or get lost.” For the longest moment, nothing outside seemed to move.

Eventually, the bolts moved with grinding noise. Harsh neon light flooded the cell. John remained standing in the doorway, arms crossed over the coarse material of his combat jacket. "Still cracking jokes, Stark?" Between rapidly blinking upwards, Tony gave a forced, jovial grin. Due to his recent buzzcut, the bruises on his face stood out even more sharply, just like his huge, brown eyes.

"Well, what can I say? I'm just a happy fella."  
The taller man's nostrils flared ever so slightly.  
“At this moment, I'm this close to using you as a human shield during our next mission."  
  
In an instant, Tony stopped grinning.  
“All threats aside... I _could_ help, you know. Fight the system.”  
The crude laugh that escaped John’s throat died down as impulsive as it had come.

“Of course you could, you fucking delusional sellout. Give me one good reason to trust you.”  
His open contempt prompted Tony to push out his jaw in irritation.  
“Then why are you here if you’re not looking for a deus ex machina moment, pal? Huh?”

They stared at each other for a split second, right before John's lips turned into a hard, thin line.  
“I want all kind of information on Starknet. It's weaknesses, potential flaws. It's the only reason you're alive.”  
Stark hauled himself up into a sitting position and pointed clanking hands at John.

“Right, because I haven't been fucked by my own creation and lived on the run for the past years! Are you really that fuckered in the head to think if there was _any_ chance to take out Starknet, I wouldn't already have gotten to it? God, you must truly be beyond moronic.” In two strides, John had closed the distance between them; the muzzle of his semi-automatic sitting right in the middle of Tony's forehead.

When Connor flicked the hammer, Stark slightly flinched. “Don't fucking try to sell yourself as a victim, Stark. You don't know shit about losing everything!” In slow motion, Tony blinked through long lashes up at him. “That is what _you_ think, _John._ ” His deliberate intonation earned him a derisive snort. The cold metal of the gun twisted hard and deep into the sensitive flesh above his brows.

It was then that Tony unconsciously squeezed his eyes shut.  
“I demand answers when I get back.”  
A click, then the pressure on his forehead eased up, and footsteps marched away.  
  
The door slammed shut with a massive dull thud and the lights went out; leaving him there, in darkness.

* * *

The latest assault on a squadron of the Iron Legion turned out to become a huge clusterfuck. From a crashed AH-64 Apache in the wastelands of Lancaster that killed two members of John's unit, over to Tech-Com losing their superiority on a previously besieged power plant; retreat was inevitable. “I need a fucking sitrep! Derek! Martin! Status!” John blinked watering eyes around as he yelled into his comm.  
  
The air was dark with smoke, dust, and debris burning inside his lungs. The Iron Legion was still scouting the area, after Connor's team had taken out at least ten machines in an excruciatingly slow ordeal of ambush or frontal assaults. Then he heard it, through the staccato of rapid machine gun fire further up north, and the crackle of explosions and fire all around.

John had just enough time to dive for cover before a repulsor blast slammed into the spot he had just cowered at; singing dry marred soil. With a curse on his lips, he rolled through the dirt and groped for the grenade launcher that had been knocked out of his hand. The armor took a sharp turn in the sky, and it was its glowing blue eye slits John managed to see through the smog, that gave him any indication where to fire at.

His first shot sent the armor dwindling out of the sky, unable to resume its aerial killing spree. It slammed down a couple of feet away from him. As the ground shook from impact, John had not enough time to dodge the volley of repulsor blasts the machine managed to fire into his direction. Two blasts caught him in the leg, as well as one that grazed his shoulder.

The pain was searing hot, hotter than anything he had ever felt burning on his skin. With a feral scream, John hurled another grenade from his M203PI at the impaired machine, resulting in blowing the drone's head off. Its torso dropped to the ground like a deadweight. Connor stared at it from close up for a few heavy puffs, before he dropped the gun and sank to the ground.

After catching his breath, John opened his aching eyes and glimpsed down at the ugly, gaping flesh wound on his thigh. It was steadily oozing blood, and he was beginning to feel light-headed fast. He reached for his comm again, fingers shaking. “Connor to Tech-Com. Target extraction in sector 5. Copy.” Lieutenant Williams was the first to answer him. Her voice was clear and professional.  
  
“On my way, John. Copy.”  
  
Grim, he tried to fumble and fasten the makeshift ligation that was his red bandana around his leg. After two futile tries, he shook his head from where he was seeing double and gritted his teeth. The last thing he remembered was Blair running towards him, face twisted in shock and worry.

 


	6. Chapter 6

It had been four days since Tony had last been visited by John Connor, and he could not help but wonder if that was a good or a bad sign. People at least had continued to feed him, and he figured if he was scheduled to be terminated, they probably would not bother wasting their resources on him. When commotion outside his cell erupted, Tony shuffled into a sitting position and cast expectant eyes at the door.

Instead of the familiar silhouette, a tall female dressed in fatigues stood in the doorway. Her face held traces of Asian descent, and she all but scowled at him. Tony still tried. “Why hello, beautiful lady. What a sight for sore eyes.” She did not even crack a smile. Instead, Tony got a glimpse of her Desert Eagle sidearm. “Save your breath, Stark. Get up slowly, and keep your hands where I can see them.”  
  
He gave a demonstrative wiggle of his shackles and scrambled to his feet. “Go easy on me.” As soon as he was up, the woman positioned herself at his side, slightly behind him. Tony could feel her semi-automatic poking slightly into a sore spot in his back. “Where are we going?” “Captain Connor wants you to have a look at something. Move.” Their footsteps echoed on metal as she steered him through a dark labyrinth of corridors.  
  
“And he couldn't even come and pick me up himself, huh.”  
  
From the corner of his eye, Tony saw her jaw working as if she had to prevent herself from talking. They marched on until the woman haltered his steps with a firm grip on his shoulder. “In here.” In a room filled with a low, steady hum of generators and the smell of diesel, a handful of people had gathered around an examining table. On it lay the decapitated metal body of an Iron Legionary.  
  
“Looks like you got yourself some real cozy company here.”  
  
As soon as Tony laid eyes on John Connor, he could see he was in pain, despite his stoic facade. The other man was leaning back against a nearby metal workbench, arms crossed in front of his chest. A white gauze bandage peeked through underneath his black t-shirt. It was stained light red. Dark circles under bloodshot eyes got visible when Connor then raised his head to look at him.  
  
“I want you to tell me everything you know about these machines.” His blunt approach made Tony laugh. “Well, I built them. Doesn't that kinda answer all of your questions in one go?” Out of nowhere, a thick arm wormed around his neck from behind, causing him to gag out loud in painful surprise. “Listen, dipshit, if you don't stop giving us crap, I'll end you right here and now!”  
  
Unable to get out of the choke hold, Tony involuntarily cast the man opposite of him a frantic look.

“Dyson, let him go.”  
John's voice was succinct.  
_“Dyson.”_

Tony gulped when the other man released him, though not without a small shove to the back. “Asshole.” Dyson's final comment caused Tony to hunch his shoulders and step out of the man's close proximity. He kept his eyes on Connor, until he got a curt nod, and cleared his throat.

“Okay, so... facts. The Iron Legion used to be an army of remote-controlled drones which were supposed to act as reinforcements during unstable times. Their main cause was to guard civilians.” At that, the man called Dyson slammed a hand upon the table, next to the drone. “Yeah, you fucker, and look what you've brought upon us!” Tony squared his shoulders and willed himself to go on.

“All of the drones have repulsor flight capability and are armed with concussive repulsor beams that were preset to stun.” Connor uncrossed his arms and braced himself against the edge of the table. “Clearly the system's modified the repulsor technology by now. Those beams are far from being set for stun. They are producing solidified energy that is aiming for major damage to the target. Or for annihilation.”

Even if the other man did not elaborate, Tony's eyes flew to the bandages around Connor's arm. “That's likely possible of course. The system's an adaptive one, designed to gather and process information for steady improvement and growth. I wouldn't know until I get a closer look at it.” By now, Connor was sizing up the lifeless armor; his eyes and lips pinched together.

“Is it possible to recreate the technology and make something even more powerful out of it?”  
Stark raised his bound wrists to rub the back of one hand against his itching nose.  
“Could be, yeah. Depends.”

“Depends on what?” Another man piped in, annoyance in his voice. He was younger than everyone else in the room. “Speak up for fuck's sake, man. We don't have all day!” A wordlessly raised hand from his team leader caused him to snap his mouth shut and glare at Tony and John in turns. “How about a deal then.” Tony knew he was pushing his luck, but one look at John and he saw something that spurred him on.

“Without any eavesdroppers. Just between you and me.”  
To the sounds of scornful laughter and murmurs from around, Connor watched him with a gauging look.  
“Leave us alone.”  
  
Silence.

The woman who brought him in and a man rose almost instantly and in unison.  
“John...”  
Connor dismissed their upcoming protests with a relentless shake of the head.

“All of you – wait outside. Five minutes. Dismissed.”

His authority unquestioned, all team members did as they were told. Once the door had fallen into its lock, John slowly turned around to focus on the remaining man. Stark meanwhile had meandered over to where the torn up armor lay on the examination table. “Let me hack into it, reprogram it. This here,” Tony flicked two fingers against a multitude of loose wires and torn up metal.

“This is all coming from my blueprints. I can modify it to your cause.”

The fact that John Connor did not flat out refuse or shut him down made Tony try for all or nothing. “I want something in return, though.” The smirk John gave was a dark, wry one, almost invisible. “Of course you do.” Tony pressed on, undeterred. “I want out of that cell. For good.” It seemed not what Connor had expected, and Tony enjoyed the bout of puzzlement that crossed his features.

“Too risky. If you walk around the bunker, you're going to end with a bullet to the brain faster than you could say your name.” John stiffly rose from his position, feeling his injured leg throb underneath his slacks. He ran a hand over his nape and cracked his neck. Stark seized him up.

“So it's your job to make sure I don't then. See … - you want all that precious stuff,” Tony lifted his bound hands and tapped lightly against his temple. “Then you better guard it well enough to use it.” Connor put his hands on his hips, close to his firearm. “Or it means I'll get to kill you myself.” Stark visibly blanched. After locking gazes with his opponent for the longest time, he eventually held up his shackled wrists.  
  
“Deal?”

* * *

“You can't be serious, John!”  
Reese fell into stride with his limping superior down the corridor.  
“When's the last time you heard me joking, Derek?”

“You're giving in to his demands? Stark needs to be put on trial, nothing else. Heck, Steve Rogers' team is going to kill him when they hear about this. You're gonna get people riled up for nothing!” John stopped walking on the spot and took a deep breath. “The outcome of this fucking war isn't _nothing_ , Derek. With Stark, we're able to exploit any advantage we might not have considered.”  
  
The young Resistance fighter still looked as skeptical and uncomfortable as earlier on.  
  
“I hope you're right about this, John. I truly hope you're right.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

"You stay over there and don't get in the way.”

Back in John Connor's bunk, Tony Stark inspected the small cot in the corner with skepticism. "No offense, but I'll need a little more room for development... figuratively speaking." He eyed the dark space in the back where a large desk filled with ballistics stood. "I assume I'll just work over there?" John followed his gaze. "No. I'll show you where. And only while I'm there to supervise your work."

Tony huffed. "Truly inspiring confidence." Connor narrowed his eyes at him. "Trust is something you earn, Stark. Right now, all you've got is a half-assed idea you need to back up." When the shorter man did not reply to that, John urged him out of the room and through the bunker. They got their boots wet within a darkened sewer complex, plowing through a slurry mixture of water and mud.

Walls left and right were lined with metal, rust and brick, making Tony involuntarily think back to the last Tetanus shot he had. Connor led him further through the tunnels, until the floors dried out and eventually ended within a small operating room. The decapitated drone had already been brought in as well, resting on the operation table in the middle of the room, partly covered by a tarp.

All types of medical equipment, some of it easily dating back to the 60s, was around as well, mostly covered in dirt and illuminated by a solitary intimidation light hanging from the ceiling. Over two dozen PCs in various states of disrepair were stacked up in a corner like concrete blocks. Spectrum analyzers, CB radios, and coils of aging solder completed the scene.

While Connor secured the doors behind them, Tony remained standing amidst the room, looking around.  
  
“Why oh why do I feel like Frankenstein here?"  
His singsong mumblings fell short of an answer as John pointed to the workbench.  
"Get to work. You've got an hour for today."

As it turned out, Connor remained as tight-lipped and taciturn as Tony had expected him to be. He, therefore, busied himself sighting the mish-mash of equipment in a box. While he applied a rusty screwdriver to gently force the drone's chest plate open, Stark glimpsed into Connor's direction. “Where did your guys manage to garner it?” John sat opposite of him on a chair and took out his semi-automatic.  
  
“I shot it down as it attacked me.” Stark's nervous glance at the weapon in Connor's hand gave way to an impressed whistle. “You're faster than your own shadow, eh?” When John did not respond to his joke and continued to clean his weapon, Tony fell silent and started to strip the torn parts of the armor off with utmost care.

Ten minutes in he was deeply engrossed in his work, sorting his exploits into little piles of wire, screws, and plating. He failed to notice how Connor had finished his own work and watched his tinkering through evaluating eyes. When Tony had extracted the two mighty gauntlets, he took them aside and began to inspect their wiring. “These are still intact. You probably just busted the actuators of the sensory systems.”

Connor glared and said nothing, to which Tony sighed to himself and adjusted the pair of cracked safety goggles on his nose. At the first, far away sounds of wailing nuclear alarm sirens outside interrupting their silence, John instantly was on alert. Confused, Tony glimpsed around. “What? What's up? What the fuck is going on?” Bewildered, he then watched how the other man shrugged back into his heavy combat jacket.  
  
“Approaching attack. Probably legionaries. Stay here.”  
Alarmed, Tony straightened up and glanced around.  
“Nah, hey, wait! Gimme a gun... HEY – I wanna help!”  
  
When Stark stepped up to follow him, Connor spun around and pointed an angry finger at him.  
“You stay _right_ where you are!”  
Taken aback at the barked out order, Tony stopped in mid-stride and watched Connor check his gun.  
  
Not paying him any mind, John headed out, breaking into a run for the main gate of the bunker. Tony listened to the ongoing sirens wail and looked around for something to use as a defending weapon. “Fucking John Connor... leaving me here like this... so not on, buster...” His eyes came to rest upon the extracted gauntlets, causing a wild grin to appear on his face.

“Let's see if daddy still got it down like in the old days.”

Even if Connor had been unequivocally clear, it was not like anyone had ever succeeded in ordering Tony Stark around. Equipped with the metal gloves on both arms, Tony stepped outside. The ground shook from heavy explosions, and he had to steady himself against a wall to his right. His equilibrium was slightly off due to the unfamiliar weight of plating around his arms, but he caught himself and exited the bunker.

 


	8. Chapter 8

As expected, chaos reigned everywhere he looked.

Resistance fighters were all over the place, right within the middle of a war zone, shooting grenades and endless rounds of ammunition into the skies at the impending doom of at least a dozen of legionaries. From what he could see, a third of Connor's squad had already been neutralized by the Legion. Tony's eyes roamed around until they came to rest upon the commander engaged in battle.

From behind the remains of an overturned tank, Connor was barking out orders whilst emptying his ammo clip into the air, catching a low-flying drone square in the back. Amidst all the commotion, he was furious once he spotted Stark. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? GET BACK INSIDE!” Tony ducked and slithered over to come to rest close to him, pressing himself up against the tank.  
  
“Supporting you and your troops.”  
It was then that John Connor stared at the pieces of metal attached to Tony Stark's body.  
_“What the fuck?”_  
  
He got a determined look in return.  
“Watch this.”  
With a low hum, the palm repulsor in Tony's right gauntlet flickered and came to life.

The first blast he fired away at the legionaries turned into a crucial hit as it took down an entire drone in one setting. Grim satisfaction splayed out on Tony's face. “Knew I still have it in me.” He repeated the gesture with his left hand, felling another two drones heading into their direction. “Believe me now?” John gritted his teeth and administered a volley of bullets into a circling legionaries batch.  
  
“Fuckin asshole.”

He still remained in close proximity of Stark, and the two of them soon got into some sort of sequence where John would lure the drones in, and Tony would act as a sniper and blast them to smithereens. They slowly worked their way up to where Rogers' squad sat surrounded by enemy fire.

"Watch out!"  
  
With a yank at Barnes' arm, Tony shielded the lieutenant from a burst of repulsor fire. The other man stared at him in incomprehension and shock, before he brushed his bangs out of his forehead. “Thanks.” Stark gave a grim nod in return and scrambled back to his feet. “Next buzzcut's for you.” Confused at his quip, Barnes threw him an odd look and got back in position.

The fight did not take too long after Tony engaged in it. When the remaining drones received a signal and veered away, John Connor eventually was able to signal his team it was safe enough for retreat. Dust whirled all around their boots as they conquered the dried out desert. Captain Steve Rogers closed up to where the Tech-Com leader was marching on in long strides.

“Stark's gonna be helpful after all. Saved Bucky's life alright there.”  
Steve cast his best friend a brief, distressed glance before he focused back on Connor.  
“He might be the biggest chance we got in winning the war.”

John squinted across the horizon, weapon still ready for eventual backup troops of their enemy. “Dial down on the hero worship, Steven. We still need a solid plan against Starknet's machines.” When Rogers fell back to walk alongside his best friend, Tony took the place next to Connor's ramrod straight form. They dragged tired feet back over to the bunker, stepping around smoldering globs of metal until Stark cleared his throat.

“Think we gave 'em hell, you and me. How about a good right-hand man by your side? I think you could need one.”  
Tony's jaunty words caused John, eyes fixated firmly ahead, to snarl as he shouldered his rifle.  
“Shut up and walk.”  
  
They separated once they were inside, with Connor going off to report and reassess. Back in the operating room, Tony slipped the gauntlets back upon the table. With a small puff, he then put his arms akimbo and turned around to give the glowering commander who soon stood in the doorway a dazzling smile. “C'mon now, for real. I know damn well how to put up a fight. How about trusting me some more?”

His self-assurance and smugness caused the other man's fickle patience to finally run dry. “That was a fucking mess out there! You're nowhere near combat-ready! Screw that thing! Screw _you!”_ To prove his point, John lashed out and smacked the nearest tools off the table with a satisfying clang. Tony stared at him and his irate expression, now equally pissed off.  
  
“Oh yeah? Why don't you try and screw me up, Rambo, huh?”  
John's lips warped into a devilish smirk.  
“You wouldn't last one round, puny armor aside.”  
  
His pejorative ways made Tony simply shrug and cock his head.  
“Ha! But if I do, I'll get my own quarters.”  
Connor sneered at him and crossed his arms.  
  
“Like hell you will.”  
It made the shorter man shrug and glimpse at his fingernails. Tony then whistled a little melody.  
“Well sure, if you're too much of a pussy... s'fine, I get it, no prob.”  
  
Connor's hazel-green eyes turned cold.  
“The gym, in five minutes.”  
He slammed the door shut behind him.

* * *

Once Tony Stark stood barefooted and dressed in a wifebeater just like his opposite on some rancid smelling gym mats, he inwardly cursed himself and his big mouth. John Connor was far more buff than he had previously assumed. Taking his eyes off his bulging biceps, Stark cleared his throat.

“Too late to call it a draw?”  
His best Cheshire grin got met with an emotionless snort.  
“By far.”

Even if John did not truly aim for serious bodily harm, Tony soon enough found himself unable to tell left from right. Connor was fast, unrelenting, and most of all – strong. All of Tony's still sore muscles and bruises screamed at him in pain, no five minutes into their sparring. As sweat stung his eyes and made him disorientated, John saw it and took his chance.

He applied a complicated martial arts scissor kick take-down that ended with Tony's back hitting the mat hard. For a couple of heartbeats, nothing except their panting and uneven breaths could be heard. “Got enough already?” Trapped underneath John's sinewy build for the umpteenth time, Tony blinked the ceiling back into focus. He was met with two stern if slightly amused looking eyes mere inches from his face.

With Connor's forearm sitting tight upon his windpipe, Tony then decided to try for the only option left. Without warning, he raised his head and tilted his chin up to plant a firm kiss on the other man's lips. It lasted no longer than two seconds, but had the desired effect of utter distraction, and gave Tony time to free himself. Rolling out from underneath John's grapple hold, he scooted away.

Looking over, he could see John Connor was angry. It was evident in the way he wiped a sleeve over his mouth and sprang to his feet. “That's not how you get out of a fight, for fuck's sake!” Stark took on a cross-legged position and reached up with his right to massage a spot on his left shoulder. “Maybe not, but it kinda did the trick, didn't it?” Enraged, John grabbed his jacket from the floor  
  
“You're a fucking jerk, Stark, you know that?”  
Said man looked up as he was probing the area on his throat with tender fingers.  
“Ah, you're merely angry at yourself for getting so easily diverted, admit it.”  
  
Fuming, John Connor stormed off towards the exit.  
“If I catch you disobeying my orders again, Imma kick your fuckin' ass all the way to Palmdale!”  
He slammed the door to the gym shut behind him, making the barbells rattle in their wall holder.  
  
As it turned out, Tony officially got himself separate quarters at the bunker less than two hours later.

 


	9. Chapter 9

The kitchen was dark and cold at five in the morning.

With a grim expression, Amanda tugged the tattered cardigan tighter around her body and pressed a button to which the small generator in the back sprang to life. Cold neon lights flickered, then provided a steady source of illumination. She began to prepare pots and pans for breakfast, until someone knocked against the dented steel of the open doorway. “Morning Mandy, need any help?”

The woman all but flinched and looked over her shoulder to shoot the dark-haired man a pointed look. “You got some nerves right there, sonny. Why you here?” Tony graced her with his best smile. “For starters, I do a mean oatmeal.” He sauntered nearer and rubbed his temples. “And I couldn't sleep anymore. Goddamn Caffeine withdrawal.” Amanda continued to watch him with wariness until he spread his arms.

“C'mon, I'm serious. Give me work. Breakfast is my thing. Just no potatoes though.”  
After her initial hesitation, the elder woman pushed a bowl into his hands.  
“Fill this up. The bag of oats is in the corner over there.”

Tony did as he was told, before he sealed the large gunny sack tight again and handed the bowl over. “Where's my precious little princess today? I thought she's always hanging around here.” Weller began to add scoops of oatmeal into the pot upon the stove and started stirring with a large wooden spoon. “Star? She caught a flu bug. Needs to stay in bed. Can't have her coughing and sneezing into all the food.”

Tony grimaced and ran a palm over the back of his shaved head. “No wonder in this cold and wet joint. I might go and visit her later - tell her what she missed out upon this morning.” At his teasing tone, Amanda raised the wooden spoon in her hand, almost threateningly. “What will that be, Anthony?” Stark gave a theatrical wince and touched his heart. “Ouch, hey – way to make me feel like I'm 14 and with my nanny again.”

The hefty woman laugh-snorted out loud. “You had a nanny at the age of fourteen? No wonder you turned out that weird there, laddie.” Tony could not help but to join her laughter. “Aww, and now you've gone and broke my heart, Mandy. How will I ever cope?” A small, aromatic smelling cup appeared underneath Tony's nose. “This might help. First brew's always the strongest.”

“No way.” Tony's nostrils flared as he soaked in the familiar smell. “Lady, you are a godsend!” At his enthusiasm over a rare treat, Amanda Weller turned around to keep the smile on her face hidden and forced a stern sound back into her deep voice. “Don't tell anyone, or I'll smack your butt. Hard.” The first residents of the bunker started piling into the kitchen around six, among them Tech-Com leader John Connor.

At the sight of Tony Stark walking back and forth between the stove and the food distribution, he slowed his steps and watched the strange scenery. From where Tony was filling porridge into small bowls and shoved them over the counter, their eyes met. Stark broke out into an honest smile, to which John gave a curt nod in return. Eventually, Tony handed him his ration. “Morning, boss.”

Connor mumbled something alike and went on to sit at an empty table, his back towards the counter. He just had finished most of his oatmeal when the chair next to him made a scraping sound. “Made with extra tender love and care. You like it?” Tony plopped down, not bothering to wait for an invitation. When no answer followed, one of his sleeves came up to brush at a stain on the dented, metal desktop.

“Are you still pissed at me?”  
John kept on scraping the spoon inside the bowl to catch every single grain. Tony hummed.  
“Okay, so no morning person, I get it. How about a little round of Operation later on?”

“Not today.”  
Finishing his breakfast, Connor pushed his chair back and stood up.  
“Go and see if Amanda needs your help.”

He turned and left, taking his used tableware back over to the food distributing station. About to scowl at his broad back for the longest time, Tony's face eventually morphed into a smile upon seeing Star made her way over to him, tray in her hands. “Hi, sunshine, good morning to you.”

Taking the tray from her hands, Tony lifted her up to sit on his lap and started to make his usual one-sided conversation with her while she ate her porridge and sniveled into her sleeve. “When I was sick as a kid, I always felt better having my plushie with me. You have a plushie, snookums?” The little girl shook her head, spoon still in her mouth. Tony nodded along with a grim expression.

“Yeah, probably not much space in this world for plushies.”

* * *

Around 8 AM, John Connor and some of his trusted Tech-Com crew members headed out on motorized vehicles.

Stark watched them go through the small ventilation slits on the side of the bunker after he had walked the girl back to her room to rest. He then circled the locked operating room a few times, fingers itching to try and break in and get to work all alone, but he figured that would get him onto Connor's permanent blacklist real quick. Instead, he sneaked over to try the other man's bunk, and, upon finding it unlocked, slipped in.

It led to a near-assault incident when Connor returned later that day, only to walk in on a person at his desk, fumbling along with some clutter. “What the fuck is it with you? This is my bunk! I've nearly blasted your damn head off!” He lowered and locked his semi-automatic and stepped closer. Rubbing his eyes with the back of a dirty hand, Tony turned around, only to erupt in a hearty yawn.  
  
“My chamber of horror is bare as fuck, the operation room is locked, and I just work better in a companionable environment, s'all. _If_ I get to work at all, that is.” Catching a glimpse of what looked to be some kind of small, mechanical doll, John frowned at his unwanted guest. “What are you doing?” Stark was already back at fiddling with wires and screws.

“You have a sick child living at this godforsaken bunker. What's it look like?” The crooked little melody Tony Stark kept on whistling as he finished working on the mecha doll in John's company followed Connor over into his dreams at some point. It took him some more time until he remembered it was called 'Age of Reason' by John Farnham.

 


	10. Chapter 10

It was a week after the legionaries attack. Many splinter groups like Rogers' team had gone back to their own ways of scouting the region; staying in touch only via coded messages about new in-country Starknet bases. Connor was just examining the latest readouts of Barnes' encrypted notes when sounds of a little melody being rapped on his door disturbed his train of thought.

By now, the Resistance leader had admitted defeat and given Stark access to the operation room, but fate and a lot of tenacity on Tony's part had the engineer coming back to John's place whenever no one else was around - to search for tools, crack a joke that usually fell on deaf ears, or give updates on his work. As if on cue, Stark's head poked around the corner; face and wifebeater stained with motor grease.

Upon not being asked to leave right away, the rest of him appeared in the doorway, showcasing a heavy duty tool belt slung around his hips. “Armor's making progress.” John nodded. “Good.” He left it at that and turned back to the schematics on screen. A whiff of musky sweat invaded John's nostrils as Tony stepped closer, scraps crunching under his boots. Stark, too, ran his eyes over the information before he hummed out.  
  
“He'd never expect anyone to be able to get that far into his core.” That earned him a slightly curious, sideways glance. “He?” Tony smirked and briefly looked at his feet. “When I created Starknet, it was merely meant to be an extension to Jarvis, my... own AI.” John Connor chose to ignore the flash of pain on the other man's countenance and cleared his throat.  
  
“So what we do is to take out each of the smart grid's components for Starknet to lose its power.” Tony bobbed his head in consent. “Though we have to be fast and strike all of them at the same time. Otherwise, the system's just going to regrow other structures, and fast. Kinda like an octopus.” It might have been the way he said it, but it ultimately caused John Connor to actually snort out a brief laugh.

“Trust a fucking genius like you to create an electronic octopus to wipe out mankind.”  
Tony Stark first frowned, then pursed his lips with equally sardonic glee and shrugged.  
“I never said I was run-of-the-mill, did I?”  
  
The look John cast him in return was an indecipherable one.  
“No, you didn't.”  
Connor then pointed his thumb back at the graphics.  
  
“Show me what you mean.”  
  
Soon, their heads were close, like trusted confidants, as they went over the schematics together. Tony explained Starknet to him in a way that John had never thought possible; leaving no doubt about his ingenuity. Even if his masterpiece had gone astray and had cost many a people's lives. Including those of John's beloved parents. Reaching out to take off his utility belt, Stark regarded the silent man to his left.

“Penny for them, chief?”  
His voice was soft as it rose Connor out of his reverie. John briskly shook his head.  
“Nothing, just-- memories.”

Tony cocked his head. “When did it happen?” A muscle in John's right cheek twitched. “What?” Stark tentatively ran two fingers along the handle of a screwdriver and pursed his lips. “Your parents. When did you lose them?” Part of him expected an outburst, maybe even physical violence, but neither was the case. “They were killed by the machines when I was eight.” John's voice was soft. Tony's vision swam for a millisecond.  
  
“When... you were eight? But... how?” A tight smile hushed over John's features. “There's a glitch in time, it's... complicated. But when you brought Starknet to life, it was too late for me to prevent their deaths. If I were able to go back in time, I... - might have been able to save them.” The silence that followed was an uncomfortable one. It prompted Tony to clear his throat.  
  
“My father lost his life in a laboratory accident, at the expense of Starknet. There was an explosion, all twelve members of his scientific unit were instantly dead. My mother got admitted to a mental ward once she learned about it. The last time she saw me before she died, she spat right at my face.” Neither of the two men said something for a while. Tony was the first to point back at the flickering schematics.

“Anyways. I came to tell you I need to travel to Point Dume, see what's left of my mansion. There's a chance some of my stuff has survived, stuff I need to complete the armor.” Hope resounded in Tony's words in such an intensity that it made John swallow down his initial refusal. “What if there's nothing, except a huge waste of time? You're dragging us out on a whim. It's too close to Palmdale, there'll be lots of legionaries.”  
  
The dark-haired man shook his head. “Hey, it's fine, I can handle it. Just let me head over to Malibu. I won't scram... where to anyhow.” Their eyes met and lingered within each other for a trifle longer than necessary. Eventually, John cleared his throat once more and threw a final glance back at the schematics. In a swift move, he then grabbed his semi-automatic from the table and shoved it into his shoulder holster.  
  
“We're leaving at the break of dawn tomorrow. Too many advantages for them while it's still dark.”  
At the resolute words, Tony also straightened back up. A wicked grin appeared on his face.  
“Sure.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

The plated, modified Humvee jostled through uneven terrain, its engine whining and bucking under their feet. Wiping an arm over his damp forehead, Tony glimpsed to his left. John Connor drove, wearing a pair of dark, slim sunglasses and his trusted HK416 rifle balancing square on his lap. So far, they had not shared more than a handful of words upon leaving the bunker.

Even though they had left early, it was already starting to get hot inside their vehicle with no air condition. The desert during summer’s peak left their mouths as parched as the baked landscape surrounding them. To their left, the dried up ocean stretched out at their feet; nothing more than a glittering salt-encrusted mirror. Tony shifted as his shirt stuck to the passenger seat and ran a hand over his military cut.  
  
“I'd kill for an ice-cold Coke.”  
Connor adjusted his palms on the steering wheel, leaving two damp spots behind.  
“Next drive-thru is yours.”  
  
The deadpan retort came out of nowhere and caused Stark to actually laugh out loud.  
“Nice one, Bob Newhart. There's hope for you yet.”  
No further answer, but Tony very well saw the slight twitch of John's lips.  
  
When they reached the grounds of what used to be Stark Mansion back in the days, it became clear the once posh playboy residence had been wiped off the face of the earth almost in its entirety. What was left was perforated with bullet holes, or covered in a solid sheen of debris and rubble. Tony urged John onwards into the ruin after hiding the Humvee underneath some camouflage tarp.

They had to duck to fit through a former elevator shaft until they got access to a secret wine cellar hidden several feet below soon after. There, the temperatures were significantly cooler than upstairs, and John found himself relishing the fresh breeze. “It's a wonder this thing still exists out here.” Tony shrugged and began to scan the place from top to bottom.

“Don't expect too much, though. I destroyed all of my suits after Starknet went berserk.” He snatched a fairly intact plastic box from the floor and began to start scouting for useful items. John went to assess their location, using a flashlight. “Why didn't you keep the suits for your own protection?” Tony shook his head. “If Starknet had gotten them into its hands, too, the consequences would've been even more fatal.”  
  
At such an imminent, noble answer, Connor kicked at a piece of metal at his feet. “So no matter what you do, you're fucking with the future in any case.” At his halfhearted jibe, Tony responded with an equally halfhearted smile. “I'm cursed with awesome you mean. Yeah, story of my life.” He tugged at a tubular piece of metal that was buried two-thirds in melted down scraps, almost losing his balance.  
  
“If I had all of my resources intact, I would've long since gone back to perfecting time travel, you better believe. To be able to go back, and...” The metal broke with a dull crunch. Tony's voice faded out for a moment. John tore his gaze off the many empty rows of the wine bottle rack and looked at him. “And what?” Stark took a huge step over a pile of glass and debris.  
  
“And... unfuck the future. Stop myself from letting it go this far. Save this world.” He hung his head low and exhaled. Gloved fingers on his shoulder then made Tony look up and into John's eyes. What he saw there made him take another breath. “And save our parents.” After a brief moment, determination crossed Connor's face. “We've not given up on this world yet.” A firm squeeze to Tony's shoulder was met with a nod.  
  
“No, we haven't.”

* * *

The sundown diffused through the ruins of the once expansive mansion grounds, casting reddish hues everywhere. It also took the two men inside by surprise, and John cursed himself for losing track of time so easily. "It's far too late to make it back to the bunker in time and on safe terms." From where he stood knee-deep in clutter and rubble, Tony looked up and at him.

"Means we're going to stay overnight." John nodded, not trying to keep the disdain off his face. "Obviously." Brushing his dust-covered palms against the front of his slacks, Tony stepped out of the pile surrounding him. "At least we should get some kind of comfy." He dug around some more and presented John an old but intact bottle of wine. Tony squinted at the label and ran a thumb over it.  
  
"This looks edible enough." Connor's eyes narrowed in disapproval. “Don't. It dulls the senses in case of an emergency.” Stark just shrugged and slightly shook the bottle. “I doubt there's actually a lot of alcohol left in it. And besides, we gotta stay hydrated.” “Alcohol _dehydrates_ , you genius.” At his condescending tone, Stark rolled his eyes for John to see. “Gee fuck, aren't you the biggest killjoy there is.”

Not bothering to wait for any more objections on the other man's part, Tony unscrewed the bottle and took a first careful sip. Under John's watchful eyes, he sloshed the wine around in his mouth before he swallowed and nodded. “Like I said, hardly intoxicating. Here, come on. To us, defeating the system once and for all.” Still skeptical, John took the bottle from him and sniffed at its contents.

“Smells like barnyard.” Stark made an insisting gesture. “Just one little sip, if only for theatrical measure.” The bitter taste that ran down his throat caused John to grimace. “What a waste of money.” Tony's fingers brushed against his as he took the bottle back. “Not back in the days. Could've plastered my driveway with these and wouldn't have felt it in my bank account. Times have changed.”

He looked at the bottle in his hand again and went back to the wine rack where he disposed of it. “You're right, this one's barnyard. Better luck next time.” Bending down to look for any other intact bottles, Tony found an old silver Kennedy half dollar in the rubble. Out of instinct, he slipped it into his pocket and continued to rummage around. In the back, John Connor scowled, arms crossed.

“Stop wasting our time there and finish up your work.” With an angry sniff, Tony rose and brandished a new bottle around. “Just for your information Mister, I already got everything salvageable over there.” Tony's thumb pointed at the huge crate they had piled up in the corner. “So cheer up some and take off your crabby pants at least once!" Connor's face twisted with undisguised ire.

“If you wouldn't always behave like a fucking tool, then there'd be a fair chance we'd get along!”

At that Stark erupted in a crude laugh. He spread his arms wide and went into the motions of a feigned bow. “Aren't you the greatest. Keep on riding my ass and tell me how to spend the rest of this shitty night – I know I won't be able to sleep anyhow, so I might as well drink! Screw you!” They glowered at each other in the dim twilight. For a moment, Tony thought John Connor would go and slug him.

He was prepared to defend himself, when the other man then snatched the new bottle of wine from his hand with force, unscrewed its cap and took a huge gulp. “Fuck you.” John wiped the back of his gloved hand over his mouth and thrust the bottle back into Tony's chest. “This one's insipid like fuck.” Tony's bafflement soon gave way to his usual, shrewd expression. He turned back to the shelf and put his arms akimbo.

“You're lucky it's happy hour round here tonight.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

Much later, the two of them were laying side by side, looking up at the sky through the cracks in the metal locking mechanism.

“John...”  
“Hm?”

Tony turned his head to the side.  
“Think 'm a li'l bit drunk.”  
Connor harrumphed into the silence.

“Told you.” As soon as he made an effort at sitting up he, too, felt his surroundings shift in a rather delayed way. “This is shit, man. We're so fucked if they're gonna ambush us like this.” Stark also pushed himself into a half-seated position. Contrite flashed over his shadowed face. “Ssssorry... 'm sorry. Reals sorry.” His hand reached over to clasp John's shoulder. “Just wanted us to relax a li'l, you know? Everything's so fucked up, and I...”

He started to become agitated and Connor cut his ramblings off with a brusque shake of the head. “S'alright. Sleep it off, it'll be okay. I take first watch.” He proceeded to fumble around for his rifle. Tony watched him with an ongoing, agonized expression. “Fuck, d'you-... you hate me now, John?” Another blunt snort. “I don't hate you, Tony. Shush now.”  
  
“Good, cause I don' have anyone out... hey!”  
“What?”  
“First time you called me Tony.”  
  
Once again, Connor lapsed into silence. Stark pressed the heel of his hand into his eye socket. “Shit. Jus' when I thought you'd start t'like me, I screw up. Always do.” John stopped fiddling with his sidearm and cast Tony a wary glance. Instead of an answer, he then scooted up against the rack and put his rifle close at hand. “Go t'sleep now.” Obedient, Tony curled up on his side, facing the other man.

After some tossing and shifting, he voiced his complaints. “'s so cold on t'floor.” A few awkward moments passed, until John outstretched his left arm, but not without an exasperated exhale of breath. Stark wasted no time scooting over until he was pressed against Connor's side. The tip of his nose was cold as it touched the skin on John's neck. Before the latter could protest, soft snores from the shorter man already filled the air.

Sitting in the dark, illuminated by a faint shimmer of Stark's ARC reactor, John Connor stared into nothingness. Occasionally, his hand would tap and clasp around the wiry shoulder of the body by his side, whenever he felt Tony twitch or murmur in his troubled sleep.

* * *

The next morning woke them with sunshine streaming into the ruin from the ocean side. What little light there was fell square upon Tony's face and tickled his senses. With a curl of his nose and a quiet sniffle, he adjusted his head and dipped it into what smelled of leather, dust, and faint soap. Wondering about the nature of his makeshift pillow, Tony peeked out from underneath one eyelid.  
  
John Connor's for once peaceful, sleeping face greeted him, inches from his own, with Tony's head resting in the crook of his arm. They had ended up curled against each other on the floor at some point during the night; Connor's jacket thrown haphazardly over their upper bodies. From close up, Tony was able to make out many little freckles that were peppering the skin left and right of John's nose and also splayed along its bridge.  
  
It left him to smile without knowing why; maybe because all of a sudden, tough-as-nails John Connor actually seemed human.

“What are you grinning at?”  
The other man's voice was rough from sleep; his eyes a dark green and not quite back in the present.  
“This here. It reminds me...”

In a daring move, Tony raised a hand and ran an index finger along the trail of freckles, brushing skin in the process. Before Connor could slap his hand off, Tony concluded. “Had an assistant who was my best friend. Called her Pepper because of her freckles.” John then pulled back, sat up and went into full soldier mode in less than twenty seconds. “Get up. We've got to get moving before it's getting too hot to head out.”  
  
Tony nodded, brushed all hurt at the rejection aside, and also got to his feet. They worked side by side, albeit wordless, carrying out enough spares over into the Humvee for Tony to hopefully complete and finish his Iron Man suit. Their drive back was even more silent and strained than the day before. Back at the bunker, Tony then immediately went for his quarters.

For the rest of the week, Stark did not bother to seek out Connor's company like he had done before. Instead, he requested to go along on missions with the team, mostly small stuff like supply runs or short-distance recon. Connor approved; Tony however always went and debriefed with officers other than him. It started to irritate John for no apparent reason.  
  
When they all but bumped into each other out on the corridor one day, he stepped into Tony's way.  
“Why aren't you working on the suit anymore? Get your ass over into the operation room.”  
From where Connor held his upper arm in a solid grip, Stark all but sneered back up into his face.

“Gotta debrief first. I just got back and I'm beat.”  
Connor's grip was unwavering, just like his gaze.  
“You can debrief with me while you work.”

It was not a question.  
Tony held his stare long enough for John to furrow his brows. Then he looked away.  
“Whatever.”

Dropping his gear into a corner with force, Tony went to unveil the patched-up armor on the table. He cracked his neck before his fingers reached into one of the many labeled boxes of spares and produced a pair of pliers. From his place on the side, John saw how Stark's hands trembled as he attempted to pinch two wires. Then Tony started to speak, not bothering to look up.

“Time of departure: 0900 hours. Return: 1200 hours. Routes out and back: North-northwest, passing the checkpoint at Ladera Heights, no overlays. Terrain: Uneven, but maneuverable. Enemy position: Unknown. Enemy encounters: None. Condition of personnel: Fucking tired. Conclusion: Captain John Conner is nothing but a sadistic asshole. Anything else I've forgotten to report, _Sir?”_  
  
His voice was monotonous despite being laced with infinite, insubordinate snark.  
“What happened to her?”  
John's question threw him for a loop, and Tony stopped squinting at the wires to look up.  
  
“To whom?”  
“Your assistant.”  
“... Pepper?”

John nodded, albeit briefly. Tony put the pliers aside and took several tries, clearing his throat. “When the first nuclear bombs hit New York, she was at Stark Tower. She and 300 others never stood a chance.” He put a hand inside his pocket to feel for his trusted, secret lucky charm coin and tried hard to keep his composure. With a distant expression, Connor slid his hip off the bench. His fingers then produced a jingling key ring.

“This doesn't lead us anywhere. Go get some sleep.”  
  
A meager smirk and two fingers raised against a temple in a cocky salute were his answer as Tony grabbed his gear and slouched off. John followed him in a respectable distance, after locking down the operating room. He forced himself to walk past the door to Stark's quarters without glimpsing at it. Instead he went straight into the gym where he beat the innocent punching bag until he could not feel his fists anymore.

 


	13. Chapter 13

The first time John Connor laid eyes on the fully operational suit was five days later. He forced down the urge to bolt for cover when the faceplate slammed shut with a metallic clang, and the eye slits started glowing blue. Strangely enough, Tony Stark now also was a good five inches taller than him. “These are far less comfy than my own suits used to be... or I've gained weight.”

The armor did a rather comical wiggle of its midriff before focusing back on Connor. “You alright there? John?” Blinking a couple of times, he looked down at himself and saw his right hand clawing around the gun in his holster. John's heart beat fast and hard against his ribcage as he stared at the metal humanoid. In an instant, the visor whooshed back up, and he was met with Tony's concerned face.

“Earth to John Connor... hey, JC? Uhhh....- buddy, you're kinda freaking me out there... hello?”  
Slowly, his tunnel vision faded out. With a deep exhale, John took his hand off his Mark 23.  
“The resemblance is... uncanny.”  
  
His voice was off-kilter, and Connor cleared his throat multiple times. Tony's armor was a mix of the regular drones' white and blue metal, with some red and gold spare parts thrown in. The reactor in the chest plate glowed bright blue, illuminating both of their faces in the sparse light of the room. “Don't worry. It's gonna work.” The compassion in Tony's voice shook John out of his stupor. His lips turned into a grim line.  
  
“It better.”

* * *

Surrounded by tired but attentive faces, the leader of Tech-Com led a final debriefing at 0500 hours.

“In less than two hours, we'll take down one of the main reactors close to the Stark Industries' facility in Palo Alto.” John's eyes skimmed along the rows of men and women in combat gear until they found the determined countenance of Tony in the second to last row. “Stark's going to provide air recon. Williams, Dyson, Reese and I will set up the explosives.” All of them nodded at the given tasks. Connor put his hands on his hips.  
  
“Let's go blow shit up.”

In the distance, on a tarmac that was sparsely lit, a battle-worn Huey without doors stood waiting, giving off the illusion of a huge insect. Tony stopped in the open doorway of the bunker and gripped the large metal suitcase in his hand tight. A firm hand slammed upon his shoulder and startled him. “You ride with me.” John did not slow down his steps as he walked onto the tarmac, so Tony hurried to catch up.

Two pilots wearing old aviation headsets were already in position at the dual controls, their gloved hands scurrying along the many knobs and switches with ease and practice. They saluted Connor who in turn stopped to hold a hushed conversation with one of them. A shiver ran through Tony's overall and the neoprene makeshift undersuit he wore below the fatigues.

He slipped onto one of the tattered canvas seats, placed the suitcase upon his lap, and looked around. Behind him, a stretcher and lots of crates were stowed. A six-barrel Gatling minigun was mounted to the door on the side, one that the old arms' manufacturer in Tony instantly recognized as a GAU-17, able to fire up to 3,000 rounds per minute.

Connor remained standing on the skids of the chopper, leaning into the cockpit as the pilot pointed at something on a screen. The other pilot then turned around and motioned for Tony to buckle up his cargo. A low hum filled the air and turned into a high-pitched whine as the engines started to fire up. It was then that Connor slid into the cabin and dropped down next to Stark.

His combat gear was heavy and made the whole aluminum tube frame construction shake from the impact. Something must have played upon Tony's countenance because John leaned over to grab two pairs of headphones. “Put these on.” Connor adjusted the mic of his headphones and went to do a check on the GAU-17. With the noise level somewhat reduced, Tony watched him readying the gun while the chopper gained altitude.

Few instruments up front provided light, so that the whole cabin was more or less dark. The wind whipped at their faces as they took off heading south. When Tony bumped against John during a sharp turn, the other man steadied him but made no move to shift away. They remained sitting pressed up against each other, feeling the cold air of the desert brush and seep through them.

“We’re rollin’ with a lot of ass today.”  
Connor smirked but kept his gaze out on the scenery.  
“Nothing against some good old steel rain backup.”

The chopper started to descend after a good half an hour; the landing site several klicks away from the initial target area as to not attract attention to the small team of five. Stark marched the front lines alongside John in contemplative silence. As soon as they spotted the plant in the distance, Connor moved forward, one foot upon a piece of rock, as he took out his binoculars and scanned the horizon.

Tony closed up to him again. “Ready to whack-a-mole, J?” Connor snorted and stowed the binoculars away again. “Ain't I always.” He looked over his shoulder at his comrades who were prepared for the upcoming mission. A faint hint of pride mirrored on his face, and he gave a crooked smirk. “Go suit up.” Stark wiggled his brows at him. “Aye-Aye, boss.”  
  
Under the cloak of dawn, Tech-Com went and rigged most of the plant with a C4 chain cable, waiting for the signal to set the explosives off. Tony Stark was high up on a blown-out roof of a three-story air intake silo and scanned the perimeter, skimming across piles of old corroding cars. At some point, slight acid rain began to fall in a steady drizzle, and all of Tech-Com had to retreat for cover.

Seeing their gear was unable to protect their skin for an indefinite amount of time, it only left Tony in his titanium-alloy armor, impermeable against any liquid. More than proud of his infallible status he went on completing their unfinished task before he engaged his HUD and scanned a huge cylindrical object sitting amid the old factory. Nothing red flickered up inside his helmet, so he engaged the comm.

“Found the source. An energy generator is hidden at the bottom. But this joint's dead, John. Whatever's left of the Iron Legion probably went to regroup elsewhere.” The metal-sounding voice of Tony crackled in Connor's earpiece. It still creeped him out beyond belief, but he did not mention it. “We can't be sure. Get in, take down the power, and get out asap.”

A whoosh of jetpack boots echoed through the semi-dark as Iron Man descended into the void with a pivoting movement. “Gimme a sec, this thing's huge.” One thing Tony had to forgo was installing a new AI module into his suit, due to lack of time and resources, so he did most of his maneuvers on manual controls. After a few more minutes, John's long fingers started to drum against his thigh with impatience.  
  
“Will you fuckin hurry up!?”

“Can you not grate on my... oh, fuck.”  
The change in Tony's voice was palpable.  
“I got incoming at nine o’clock! Watch your asses down there!”

A breathless Lieutenant Williams pushed past Reese and Dyson to nod at her commander.  
“Legionaries! It's an ambush! We gotta go!”  
Connor made a few rotating movements with his arm above his head to get the chopper pilots ready.  
  
With his team up in the air, he balanced on the skids of the last remaining chopper that hovered few feet above the ground and yelled into his headset. “Get the fuck out! RETREAT! Stark! COPY!” Trapped inside the confines of the silo, Tony managed to shoot down a handful of drones, until he caught several of them meddling with the set of explosives he had mounted upon the concrete walls.

“Oh, shit...”  
The solid bricks of the silo blew out with a sickening crunch, then there were shards of clinker flying everywhere.  
The last thing he remembered were loud bangs of explosions all around him.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a wee bit juicier than the previous ones..

Stark only came to when they were back in the makeshift sickbay, under the watchful eyes of his team leader.  
John's tightly furrowed brows were the first thing Tony saw when his eyes fluttered open.  
“Some party. Who roofied me, for fuck's sake?”

Connor's frown only increased in intensity. “You're not going out there with us anymore. Too risky. Give me the access code for the Iron Suit.” Attempting a laugh, Tony grimaced when it came out a wheezing cough. “Like hell I will.” He swallowed, briefly closed his eyes, and again tried to focus on the furious countenance looming above. “You need me on your team, Johnny boy, whether you like it or not.”

Said man straightened up and put his arms akimbo. “What I don't need is a dead fool inside an iron armor amid the battlefield.” Tony all but snarled at him, one hand shooting up from underneath the blanket to grasp John's wrist. “No one else would've been able to do this! You _know_ that! You _know_ I can fight!” Connor stared at the fingers on his skin as if they were made of some foreign substance.  
  
“Doesn't mean I _want_ you to, god fucking dammit!” He shook the other man's grip off and turned around. Tony snarled again and proceeded to lunge at him. “No! You fuckin' stay here and tell it to my face! I wanna know the fuckin' reason why!” Pushing himself forward too fast, he could not prevent the grunt of pain as his sore ribs protested. Two strong arms pushed him back into the pillows, holding him in place.  
  
“I don't have to explain my orders to you, Stark, you got that? Stay put!”  
Tony's gaze wandered from John's aggravated countenance down to his bare, freckled forearms.  
“Stubborn as fuck again, Connor?”  
  
His voice was quiet, a tad shaky. He could feel John's warm breath on his cheek.  
“Shut the fuck up, Tony.”  
Dark brown eyes then locked with hazel, a glint of insubordination laying in them.  
  
“Oh yeah? Why don't you try and make me, John?”  
  
And so John Connor did, with his lips pressing tight upon the other man's half-opened mouth. Tony gave a muffled, surprised moan but closed his eyes at the same time. John's hands lost their steel-like grip on his shoulders but stayed where they were to apply gentle pressure nonetheless. Even as their mouths separated, their faces remained mere inches apart for a little while longer.  
  
Something like incomprehension lay in John's eyes before he drew away with a hiss. “Ah, fuck!” It earned him a benign smile from Tony. “Not how I'd put it. And I think you've won this round.” The sigh that escaped his lips was a dreamy one. “Can we do this again when I'm a li'l less doped up?” Unable to help it, Connor actually snorted out loud, still startled by his own, initial reaction.  
  
“Sleep now, rest. I'll check up on you later on.”  
Tony nestled back into the pillows.  
“'m countin' on it.”

* * *

Even if Tony had planned on discussing the events at sickbay, another offensive mission tore John Connor away from the unpleasant task of talking things through. When he got back to the bunker almost five days later, he was drenched in sewage and grime and sported a nasty gash on his face. At the same time, Stark sat in the recreational area, fingers busy trying to fix the broken parts of Star's mecha-doll.

It was the only toy the girl owned, and she was always was heartbroken when she discovered loose limbs or worse. As soon as footsteps stomped past, Tony raised his head. John's eyes instantly met his through the see-through partitions of the corridor as he walked past, a slight limp in his stride. He did not stop, however, and once he had disappeared around a corner, Tony snatched his tool belt from the table.

Brushing a hand over Star's curly brown hair, he stood up, handed her the repaired doll back, and went over to where he knew Connor was headed, as soon as debriefing was going to be done. Tony only had to wait twenty minutes in his quarters, then John's tired and dead-beat physique entered his bunk. “Why wasn't I invited?” Connor all but scowled at him as he inched out of his jacket with difficulty.  
  
“Not in the mood for this right now.”

Tony walked into his direction, spreading his arms wide in the process. “So sorry, Captain. So what are you in the mood for then?” He gave an audible sniff upon catching a whiff of sewage. “Ugh.” Weary, John graced him with a humorless smirk. “A fuckin Jacuzzi would just about do, actually.” After shedding more of his stained combat gear, he grabbed his lower back and bit back a groan. Tony suddenly wore a cryptic grin.

“Well, while I _am,_ in fact, a mechanic, that is a bit far-fetched, even for me. However...” He then pointed a thumb towards the abandoned lavatory in the corner. “... I may have just what you desire. Come and look.” Beyond skeptical, John still limped after him. In the doorway, he was told to wait as Stark bent down to switch on a small generator. Seconds later, dim light flooded the room, and Connor's eyes narrowed.

“Lights so I can look at the non-functioning shower? Fantastic.”  
He was about to turn and leave for the bowl of water on the table when Tony's hand stopped him.  
“Your mood's even fouler than your smell. It works. I fixed it. Not for shower marathons, but...”

John Connor's brows knitted together in a tight frown.  
“I don't want any of this... privileged shit, okay? Wasting water - what the hell were you thinking?!”  
It took less than two seconds for Tony Stark's face to warp into an angry grimace.

“I was thinking about _you_ , you fuckhead! I did it for _you_ , okay? After you left without a fuckin word! Without telling me where the hell you're going – and I'm stuck here like a fool wondering what the fuck I've done wrong if you don't speak to me about what happened between us, and...” Two strong, dirty hands grabbed him by the lapels of his Kevlar jacket. Tony near startled.  
  
“Get in there. Now. Show me that it works.”  
  
Even while he growled out the words, John propelled the shorter man into the dark-tiled cabin. It had no glass doors or panels and consisted of three solid walls and a rather rusty looking shower head pointing into the corner. Wide-eyed and backed into the corner of the small confines, Stark began to undress. Connor was ridding himself of his clothes with harsh motions at the same time.  
  
Once they were naked, Tony pressed a button, to which the pipes and tubes sprang to live with loud, walloping noises. At the first contact of lukewarm water with the skin on his back, John flinched, but remained standing where he was; caging Tony in the corner, arms left and right of him on the wall. “It's about to get warm in a few secs.” Babbling along, Tony took turns eying the shower head and the intense gaze of the other man.  
  
“I want it hot. Real hot.”  
  
Adam's apple bobbing, Tony nodded and reached out to turn the switch all the way, until steam filled the air. “Is... there anything else that you want, John?” His voice was hoarse as he watched the hot water pelt down the broad set of Connor's shoulders. A predatory expression lay on John's face. “Yeah. Oh, yeah, there is.” Droplets rolled off his cropped hair as he leaned in to capture Tony's eager and waiting lips.  
  
The small piece of soap Tony had found and brought along did its best to clean away all the dirt and grease from both of their bodies. They took turns in lathering each other clean; Stark being mindful of the fresh bruise on the other man's temple that had just stopped bleeding. When Connor's unabashed hand then went for Tony's prominent arousal, it caused him to groan out loud. “Fuck, John, this is...-”

Tony had to steady himself against the wall as the solid body pressed into him, and long fingers engulfed his painfully hard cock to administer strong, pumping motions. “... gonna be... over real quick... if you...” Connor did not stop and soon was simultaneously stroking them both in a steady rhythm. He could be heard panting close to Tony's ear. “Doesn't matter. I'll get dirty again soon enough.”

The words came out faltering as he pressed them out between kissing and sucking Tony's jawbone. Stark's hands reached around the narrow set of hips, to grope for the tight flesh of John's buttocks and pull him closer. It caused the other man to groan out in release soon after; his ecstasy sending Tony over the edge as well. They spent themselves in John's hand and stood there for a while, slumped against each other in sated bliss.

Once he was able to move, Tony blinked his eyes open and glimpsed up through long, damp lashes.  
  
“Does that mean you like your shower?”  
Stark's voice was a tad shaky but triumphant. Connor smirked with eyes closed.  
“I could get used to it.”

Later, when John was fast asleep, face down on his cot, he had one hand possessively wrapped around Tony's midriff. The latter lay curled up on his side and regarded the half dollar in his fingers. At some point, he too drifted off, with a small, satisfied smile upon his lips.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of gratuitous use of military lingo (explanations at the end)

“If you wanna keep on doing this, we gotta get you synched with the team.”  
John's matter-of-fact voice got Tony to look up from where he was tampering with the suit's thrusters.  
“You're talking about...”

“Combat practice.”

“Oh, come on!”  
  
Connor went on cleaning his own sidearm with maddening thoroughness and did not meet his indignant gaze. “You'll get to work with Williams and Dyson first.” Tony all but squeaked. “Dyson's still hellbent on killing me if I may remind you!” John's brow quirked, as did the corner of his mouth. “That's the best practice you can get, then.”

* * *

Trying to appear confident, Tony straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest before he rapped at the door with its name tag D. Dyson. Two angry brown eyes stared back at him when the door opened with a creak seconds later. “John sent me to... work with you.” “What for?” Stark shrugged. “Beats me. Uh, don't take that as an invitation or something.” He stepped back and held up his hands. Dyson's eyes narrowed.

“I don't work with fools.”  
He turned and left him standing in the open doorway.  
Rocking back and forth on his heels, Tony stuffed both hands into his pockets.

“This fool's got three doctorates and an IQ over 190, just saying.”

“If you're so smart, you should've stopped the fucking mess you created.”

“You're right. Maybe I am a bigger fool than I thought.”

He slid into the small dark room and looked at the collection of computer parts on his table.  
“JC said you're good with machines and stuff.”  
From where Dyson had sat back down and crossed his arms, he followed Tony's line of view.

“I'm a technician.”  
Stark nodded, still examining the inventory.  
Eventually, he quirked up an eyebrow at the younger man.  
  
“And I'm a mechanic who got this neat-o suit of armor that could benefit from a second pair of eyes.”  
Dyson eyed him with a guarded expression.  
“Listen, I know I fucked up. Now I'm gonna put things straight again, but I need a bit of help.”

“What do you want?”

“A new set of electronics for the targeting system would be nice. And an afterward sesh to test it out.”  
Two arms slowly uncrossed.  
“Hand over your specifications and gimme two hours.”

* * *

Tony soon came to learn that coaxing Lieutenant Blair Williams out of her shell was surprisingly harder than convincing Daniel Dyson to not break his nose. Williams ignored him during shooting practice, during lunch, and before a quick STA, until he caught her cursing at her Warthog jet aircraft. “Yelling at it won't get it off the ground.” She looked at him with a murderous glint in her eyes. “Maybe yelling at a nosy wiseguy will help.”  
  
Stark tutted and watched her blow a strand of hair from her face. “Unlikely. What's wrong with her anyhow?” Blair looked at the jet's nose. “GAU-8/A is jammed." Tony walked around the fuselage and hunkered down to look at the open compartments underneath. “That's not supposed to happen with linkless ammunition.” His fingers probed at the open belly some more until Tony made a deductive noise.

“It's the recoil adapters. One of them isn't doing its job.” She appeared at his right side, glimpsing up to where Tony pointed a finger. “If you have a couple of tools, we should be able to work out the kinks in little to no time.” Blair ducked away without a word, only to reappear with a box. They worked in silence side by side, until Tony mumbled for her to go and try it out.

Together they flipped the metal compartments shut, then Lieutenant Williams hopped up and took a seat at the controls. She gave him the thumbs up when all systems flashed green at her. Powering down again, she jumped down the ladder and gave her jet another once-over. “I used to fly with a comrade who took care of the final clearance before takeoff.” Tony handed her the box back. “What happened to him?”

She brushed an arm over her forehead and squinted at something in the distance. “He got shot down over trying to intercept a machine transport.” Tony patted the titanium hull of the aircraft a final time. “Let me be your wingman, Williams.”  
  
From that point on, Tony was Eagle 1.

* * *

High up in the air, accompanying Blair in her A-10 Thunderbolt II, Tony listened to John and her talking evasive maneuvers.  
  
“We got a hot LZ. Stay clear.” Connor then addressed him. “Stay frosty, Eagle 1, there's a sandstorm coming up.” Eying his readouts, Tony also saw the weather front moving onto them. When everything started to blur into an indistinguishable fog of tan, he swerved up higher. And saw what ground control and simultaneously John had not discovered up to now.

“Dusty and gusty's not the only thing we've got, Bravo 10. I have a batch of legionaries at 12 o'clock low. Copy.” Curses over the comm. “Affirmative, Eagle 1. Alpha 5, visibility's below acceptable minimums. Initiate a go-around. Over.” Blair Williams confirmed her leader's command and swerved up to Tony's altitude. “Those suckers are immune to sand. They fly right through!” She fumed behind her controls.

“Eagle 1, are you able to lure them out and onto my twelve?” He drew up a route inside his HUD and waited until all systems were engaged. “Affirmative, Alpha 5. Tell me when I can go get some.” After a while, Blair's voice rustled inside his helmet. “Cleared hot. Show these suckers how we do it round here, Eagle 1!” Behind his faceplate, Tony's lips stretched into a feral grin.

“Wilco, Ltee. Captain JC, I hope you are watching this.”  
  
He came in, repulsors ablaze and firing numerous miniature air-to-air missiles from the shoulder pods. The hostile legionaries that had not been caught in his rampage veered to the side to try and surround him in a pincer movement, even as the sandstorm picked up speed and elemental force. It subsequently also jammed radio connections with the ground troops and their leader, and Tony engaged heat vision.

He made out Connor's glowing red and orange silhouette on the back of a modified Humvee, brandishing an equally heated source of weaponry around. Higher up, Blair's Gatling gun was still raiding the sky, and so Stark dove down to wipe out those remaining legionaries she could not reach. Time flew by in a hurry, and just when Tony thought there was actual sand inside his armor, radio comm sprang to life.

“Storm's clearing up!”

The wind started to lessen, and the all-encompassing darkness began to lift. After clearing Blair's route, Tony headed down. Back on solid ground, he approached the Tech-Com leader who stood, arms crossed and feet planted firm and wide, close to the Humvee that was covered in sand up to its fender flares. A pair of airtight goggles sat on his forehead, and he lowered the bandana that covered his nose and mouth.

With his helmet wedged in between the crook of his arm, a smug-looking Tony strutted over. His tongue flickered from one corner of his mouth to the other, then he arched a brow. “How'd I do?” John's astute eyes scanned the readouts of a new inter-sonar headset Tony had manufactured for him. “You fuckin' bullet magnet.” It was said with affection and just as kind as the accompanying bump Connor nudged his jaw with.

Tony's features morphed into a roguish smirk. “What am I supposed to do if you're having way too much fun with Forty Mike-Mike down here? Someone's gotta watch your ass.” John rubbed sand out of his short hair and proceeded to head into the direction of their waiting Huey. “That someone's you or what.” Stark fell a few steps behind and cocked his head as he examined the object in question. Then he gave a low whistle.  
  
“Well, it _is_ a very nice ass for starters.”

Once they were aboard the chopper, Tony caught the spaced out stare of his lover. Their basic rules included no physical caresses whatsoever on a mission, but seeing they were on their way back and alone, he dared to break code by running a hand over John's buzzcut, ending with a squeeze to his nape.

“Tired?”

“Suckin' wind actually.”

“Too bad. I'd rather have you sucking...”

“Shut it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STA = Surveillance and Target Acquisition  
> GAU-8/A = seven-barrel autocannon mounted to the aircraft  
> Hot LZ = perilous landing zone  
> Stay frosty = watch out/stay alert  
> Get Some = fire at and attack the enemy  
> Cleared hot = permission to fire  
> Affirmative/wilco = yes/will comply  
> Bullet magnet = something that draws enemy fire to one's position  
> Forty Mike-Mike = Mark 19, a rapid-fire grenade launcher  
> Suckin' wind = tired beyond belief
> 
> source for many of these: http://sgtbrandi.com/?page_id=2260


	16. Chapter 16

_He was soaring through the sky, Iron Man's armor gleaming in broad daylight._

“ _Should've taken War Machine along for the ride, platypus, just saying._ _”_

_The Air Force Lieutenant in his F-22 closed up to him._

“ _I don't think_ _my superiors would agree on that, Tones.”_

“ _Why not, they made you take the suit, and...”_

“ _ **You** made me take the suit, Tony, please fact-check.” _

“ _Well, yeah, but not directly. It was more of a subtle nudge.”_

“ _To tell me you're dying does not call for a subtle nudge, man!”_

“ _Well, I ain't dying anymore, so why won't you let me re-design that shitty Hammeroid deformity?”_

“ _Because you are obsessed with the Iron Legion, and we don't need yet another threat in the air.”_

“ _Whoa there, hold yer horses – are you saying that I am a threat to humanity?”_

“ _I ain't saying anything, Tones, can we please finish this demonstration?”_

“ _Sure, but this one's not over yet, platypus. You owe me and Starknet a big friggin apology drink.”_

_A bleep on his HUD._

“ _What was that? Rhodey?”_

“ _I got this too. Something's not right.”_

_Tony opened a channel to listen in on ground control arguing back and forth with his best friend._

“ _Jarvis? What is going on?”_

“ _Starknet became self-aware at 05:38 AM Pacific Time, Sir.”_

“ _It... what?”_

“ _ABORT MISSION! ABORT MISSION!”_

“ _Sir, I have detected multiple nuclear detonations coming from several stations all over the country.”_

“ _The fuck!? Jarvis, hack into Starknet, override the command! Activate clean slate protocol! Jarvis?!”_

'System failure – system offline – emergency shut down – manual controls malfunction'

_The nuclear blast sent him spiraling through the air, until he hit the ground with a dull thud and got the wind knocked out of him. The armor protected him from being dead on the spot, but the forceful impact sent him skidding and rolling uncontrollably through anything in his way, until he lost consciousness. Blood in his mouth made him wake up at some point, completely surrounded by darkness._

“ _Hello?”_

“ _Jarvis? Rhodey?... anyone?”_

_His armor did not respond. There were cracks in the exoskeleton through which moldy odor streamed in. He could feel at least two cracked ribs and a sharp pain erupting from the back of his head. 'Stay conscious, c'mon'. Agonizing fear spread out inside his veins and initiated a panic attack. It left him gulping for air too thin and clawing at the kill switch of his armor, which would not give in...  
_

He woke from the nightmare drenched in sweat and alone in his bunk. For a few moments, Tony caught up with reality and waited until his heartbeat was back to normal. “Fuck.” His palms came away damp when he wiped over his face. A glimpse at the cracked plastic display of the little alarm clock nearby told him it was just 3:52 AM. “Might as well do something productive.”

He shuffled into a ragged fleece hoodie and put on fingerless gloves against the seeping cold of the bunker in the nighttime hours. Reaching for his tool belt, Tony then pulled the second to last drawer of his desk open, the one that always got stuck at first try, and took a little oblong box out. At some point, a familiar single knock at his door shook him out of a tired spell he had not realized he had fallen under.  
  
“Tony?”  
Quick to hide the small item under a batch of scraps, Tony put the blunt file and makeshift dremel aside.  
“Yeah, come in.”

John's eyes roamed over his tired form sitting at the desk. He frowned but did not say anything.  
“I'm heading out now.”  
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose before he nodded.

“Gimme ten minutes, then...”

“No.”

At that, Stark stopped gathering his tools. When he looked up, there was a challenging glint in his eyes.  
“Are we having this discussion again?”  
John Connor, master of intense staredowns and non-twitching facial expressions, held his gaze.

“I'm not discussing, I'm telling you.”  
Mutual vexation spread out on their faces. Tony then made an offing gesture and broke eye contact.  
“Fine, go.”

About to turn and leave, Connor stopped and came back to where Stark was moping. He put a hand on his comrade's shoulder and squeezed, hard, to make him glance up. “My quarters, 2100 hours.” His gruff tone was accompanied by a surprisingly gentle kiss to a temple. Tony nodded and watched him leave. Once John was gone, he took out what once had been a silver dollar and regarded its changing shape.

“Getting there."

* * *

It was a rare, quiet summer night. Two naked bodies lay, entwined with each other, atop tangled sheets, slowly getting their respiration back to normal. With the solid muscle of John Connor draped safe and securely around him, Tony felt only partially chilled by the sweat cooling on his skin. “I can hear you thinking.” Not a question, more of a statement. A low, gruff statement. Tony exhaled through his nose.  
  
“M a genius, babe. No matter how good you are at fucking my brains out, I still got spares. Lots.” He could feel John's lips twitch against his earlobe. “I should start fucking some humility into you instead. You're in dire need of a hearty dose.” He then shifted and turned flat on his back, leaving a vacuum behind that made Tony mumble out his protest. John did not cave in and prodded again.

“Quit fussing. What's on your mind?”  
With a surrendering sigh, Tony also twisted around to be able to snuggle up close to him again.  
“The clean slate protocol.”

“Clean slate?” John's voice was a little less gruff than before. “Yup. Programmed it myself before the war. A self-destruct protocol, able to initiate the immediate termination of all Iron Legionaries.” When nothing else followed, Connor turned his head to look at his lover. “Why do you tell me only now?” Tony circled his index finger around a small nick on John's stomach; close to his belly button.

Most of Connor's body was peppered with scars; varying in shape, size, and texture. Tony had gotten to know all of them by heart. The little crescent-shaped, white line on his abs was one of his favorites. “Because it'd be impossible to act out without the resources and knowledge we... _I..._ have now.” Connor's gaze did not waver at the physical distraction.  
  
“And that would be which?” Tony grinned to himself, keeping his eyes on his task. “Me suiting up and going into Starknet's headquarters. Once I manage to get inside, I can hack the main server, initiate the protocol, and screw up the main processors for good.”

“You're so not.”  
The matter-of-fact tone caused Tony to inch closer yet again and press a kiss upon the fluttering pulse point on John's throat.  
“I so am. If you rationally think about it, it's the best option. Even if Starknet adapted to my weaponry, I can easily adapt to theirs.”

Connor drew a lopsided grimace in the semi-dark. “I am rationally thinking about it and still say no.” “You can't order me around, John.” Tony's voice turned flat. Before he could back out of the quasi-embrace, Connor's hand stopped him. “Yes, I can. Not as your lover, but as the leader of Tech-Com.” His try for pulling rank caused Tony to put up a condescending expression.  
  
“Newsflash: _I_ don't belong to Tech-Com, oh great Captain Connor.” No sooner than his mockery left his mouth, Tony found himself being pressed into the mattress. Hazel eyes narrowed in at him, intense and unrelenting. “Maybe you don't, but you belong to me. You belong _with_ me.” John Connor's possessive growl soon turned into equally possessive kisses.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> descriptions of consensual m/m

Tony stood in the back of the large hangar, watching the members of Tech-Com and several other splinter groups surround the man who was going to lead them into battle once again. In between many determined male and female faces, many of them wearing camouflage paint, Tony also spotted Steve Rogers and his right-hand man Bucky Barnes, as well as the rest of their Howling Commandos unit.  
  
His eyes came to rest upon the man amid the half-circle again. Connor was in the final stages of explaining the details of the attack to those Resistance members who would be responsible for clearing their backs via air support and ground patrols everywhere around Palmdale. Once he was done, John put his arms akimbo and glanced around. His face twisted with determination.  
  
“We know what's going to await us, but we've been close to death too many times for it to still scare us. Members of the Resistance – it's about time. It ends tonight. For one last time, we will ride as one. Fight as one. For the future of this world; for freedom. Our freedom!" His speech was met with thunderous applause over the radio, as well as cheering from everyone around the bunker.

Tony swallowed hard at the emotions inside of him at the picture of strength and leadership John represented to his troops, and all of the remaining civilians who had put their lives in his hands. It had taken days of Tony's life to persuade John to go in alone after all and resulted in them not speaking to each other for days afterward. His fingers fumbled for the small item in his pocket, twisting it around to keep focused.

All he needed was the right moment.

* * *

Commotion was still high around Connor after the briefing, but Tony eventually sought him out alone outside the bunker. Dressed in his full combat gear, John was carrying a duffel bag in one hand, and his HK-410 in the other. “Uh...” Tony licked his lips and saw John following his motions with his eyes. “... I just wanted to tell you, that I...” Connor's face remained impassive. “Got your suit ready?”

Taken aback, Tony swallowed, blinked, and nodded. John also nodded and handed him the duffel. “Follow me.” They marched through a hangar and past a dozen of camouflaged fighter pilots and crew members who all saluted their leader until John led him into a storage room to the left. The small chamber smelled of lithium soap and ammonia and was packed with crates of various sizes.

As soon as the door had slammed shut, Tony yelped as he found himself pressed up against a container. John grabbed him by the lapels and hurled himself at him, lips crashing onto his mouth, teeth colliding. “Fuck me. Make it quick.” Connor started to unbuckle the many harnesses and Kevlar-lined elements of his combat pants. Tony stared at him as if he had spoken a foreign language.  
  
“John, uh...” Despite his hesitation, Tony could feel himself growing hard at the offered prospect. “This is gonna hurt without prep, you know.” He licked his lips and watched those tight, pale buttocks appear. A small package was thrown his way before John braced himself against the crates, legs spread wide. “Done and done.” Staring from the lube in his palm over at his lover, Tony's rational mind switched off.

His fingers, slicked with gooey liquid, probed John's entrance, only to hiss out in barely contained desire immediately after. “Fuck, John, you really came prepared.” An impatient glare over a shoulder. “Shut up and do it!” They were united within one strong thrust. Part of Tony felt instant remorse when his hands gripped those narrow hips a trifle too tight, and he heard John utter something that resembled a hiss.

“Sorry.” Lowering his head, Connor said nothing at first and pressed backward instead. “Move.” And so Tony did. The sound of flesh on flesh soon was joined by their mutual grunts and the occasional uttered, monosyllabic words. “Ah, fuck. C'mon. Yes. Harder.” At some point, John steadied himself with one hand against the crates and was stroking himself in the same rhythm of Tony's thrusts.

His orgasm washed over him before Tony realized it, too caught up in his own ecstasy. He made an attempt to pull out, knowing fully well anything beyond this point would be nothing but torture for his partner. A rough leather gloved palm then reached around and clutched at Tony's hip, prompting him to go on. “Don't... – f... fuck me through... it.” John's voice was still shuddering from release.

Seeing his back heave and hearing his gasps for air made Tony bite down on his bottom lip as he felt his own climax approach fast. Spent, he lay draped over John's back a few moments later, trying to get his respiration under control. When he felt John starting to shift, he allowed him to cut their intimate connection and pull up his pants. Connor wiped his hand against his thigh and turned around to look at his contemplative lover.

Tony swallowed and tried for a crooked smirk that came out far too emotional. “This was not what I expected when I said I wanted to tell you something, but it makes things a bit... easier.” They kissed again, almost frantic until initial roughness gave way to tenderness, and John's kisses turned softer. With their foreheads dipped against each other, Connor closed his eyes and squeezed them shut.

“Don't you dare give me that emo shit now, just when I'm about to lead you into disaster, alright?”  
At his mumblings, Tony's arms went around his midriff, holding on tight as he tucked his head under John's chin.  
“Emo shit. Tsk. You don't even know what I was about to say.”  
  
When they separated, Tony reached into his pocket and watched John's eyes follow his motions. At the sight of the slim, silvery band, he frowned at his shorter lover. “What the hell?” Stark's smile turned sheepish. “For luck.” He gave an embarrassed little chuckle and scratched the back of his head. “Made it from an old silver dollar I found. It's nothing really important, I just thought, well...”

After an awkward little silence, John pulled off his left glove. His short, clipped nails held traces of motor grease and dirt. He splayed long fingers and held them out into Tony's direction. Shocked, the latter looked up and into his face. “It's not what you think, I mean... you don't have to – I just wanted...” More insistent, Connor shook his hand into his face. “Put it on, see if it fits.”

Tony did as he was told and inched the small object over John's ring finger. “There. Fits like a glove.” They regarded it in unison for a moment. John then balled his hand into a fist to gently tilt his lover's chin up and look him in the eyes. “I don't think it's just for luck.” Stark frowned. “What's it for then?” His voice held a miniscule quiver to which Connor leaned in close one more time, breath ghosting over his lips.

“It's a promise.”

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miscalculated, so there will be one more chapter to come after this one (I always was bad with numbers, smh)

Endless rows of half-constructed Legionaries were lined up all inside the plant. A shudder ran down Tony's spine inside his armor at the sight. “Eagle 1, give me a status. Copy.” John's voice sounded professional and rough as always. It kept him focused, and he willed himself to advance in further. “Eagle 1 to Bravo 10. All's clear in sector 0-0-2. I'm heading for subzero level now. Copy.”  
  
Connor kept his gaze on the screen as he pressed the button of small communicator in his palm. “Affirmative. Keep going.” Another frequency clicked over the radio, and he switched channels. “Nomade 11 to Bravo 10. We got the whole north and west side rigged. Over.” A muscle in John's cheek twitched. Rogers sure was working fast; same with Barnes. “Copy that. Head for extraction point and await further orders.”

He flipped the switch again and focused back on his own team. Reese and Dyson had not been slacking either, which gave him the utmost satisfaction and had applied all available blasting charges to the south and east side of the plant. “Bravo 10 to Eagle 1. We're all set.” A proud grin spread out over Tony's lips at the voice of his lover. “Copy that, Bravo 10. I'm on visual now. ETD: 12 minutes.”

He knew the time slot was tight, but not tight enough to be concerned. Once Tony had jammed the main power sourcing, he could head straight up and out and leave tons of Semtex to do their job. The escape route already mapped out and stored in his suit, Tony dropped down at his destination. The main reactor's console pad was slightly damaged, but still functional.

He reached for the lid underneath and pulled until it came off, revealing complex wiring. “Be a little nice to daddy here.” Tony started to mumble to himself as he worked gauntleted fingers through a patch of integrated circuits. Something fizzled upon the screen. “I am detecting harmful intentions on your part, Sir.” The fact that Starknet was still using Jarvis' old voice module caused another shiver to run down Tony's spine.

“Yeah, no kiddin.” Part of him debated whether or not to take off the gauntlets as his dexterity was better without, but then the AI sent a jolt of 10,000 volts through his armor. “I am afraid I have to ask you to back off now, Sir.” Sweat was building up behind his faceplate as Tony willed his fingers to stop from shaking. “No can do, buddy.” The readouts on his HUD started to flicker, trying to absorb the massive current.  
  
“You do not leave me a choice then, Sir.”  
  
In less than a split second, a fire erupted behind Tony's eyeballs, causing him to scream out in agony.

* * *

“Status! Eagle 1, give me a status! Tony!”  
  
John Connor's voice was more than alarmed at the horrifying sounds over the comm. When no answer followed, he hoisted his rifle from his back and surged forward. “I'm going in! Hold your positions!” Over the comm, Reese's voice was furious. “THE FUCK! JOHN?!” Connor's panting voice answered him. “Secure the perimeter and STAY PUT!”

Once he had entered the blown apart main doors, he kept his back to the walls and crawled, ducked, and sneaked his way through the large facility. An eerie, low hum persisted within the heart of Starknet, and John felt the hairs in his neck start to rise from the electrostatic crackle that hung in the air. Down below, where he had lost contact with Tony, everything was drenched in cold, bluish hues.

The light came from the general power source that loomed up right in front of him - Starknet's main ARC reactor. With a tap of two fingers against his temple, John's inter-sonar headset sprang to life and drew up an instant, holographic grid. The readout in front of his left eye indicated no other activity apart from the still active main reactor. Red lettering blinked at him from a screen in the distance.

Connor hurried over, trying to keep the sound of his heavy combat boots on metal as light as possible.

_'SHUTDOWN SEQUENCE INITIATED. LOG-IN INCOMPLETE. SYSTEM BACK TO NORMAL IN 10... 9... 8...'_

Not knowing where Tony was, or why he had to leave the process behind unfinished, John licked his dry lips and tried in vain to fill in the missing parts before all security protocols were back up and alerted to their presence. While he hunched over the control panel with its cracked touch screen, repulsor sounds from above made John stop dead in his tracks and drew his rifle.

The first blast whizzed past his head, and he ducked for cover underneath the console. As he forced his breathing down to a minimum, an unfamiliar voice rang out. “I know where you are, John Connor. It is pointless to hide.” Another blast caused half of the console to explode in a multitude of metal and plastic splinters. Shielding his eyes and face, John rolled over onto to crouch for cover behind a few metal canisters.

The skin under his right eye started to sting, and his fingertips came away red when he wiped at the cut. When he looked up, the Iron Man armor was hovering right over him. Its eye slits and repulsor beams were glowing bright red, like the ARC reactor amid the chest plate. John kept his gun up, but his finger off the trigger. 

“T- Tony...?”   
The armor stared right at him.  
“No...”  
  
The voice was distorted into something else. Something that did not resemble Stark's deep baritone. Shocked, John watched how the humanoid raised both palm repulsors into his direction, their ignition sound filling the air. “... but rest assured he will be watching, knowing he is the one responsible for killing the great John Connor.” With that, the armor moved in on him, almost too fast for John to realize what was going on.

 


	19. Chapter 19

The first impact came from the fall as John hurled himself backward over the railing, only to fall five feet and drop onto his left side with a dull thud. Momentarily winded, he still managed to get on all fours when the hum of the corrupted Iron Man armor whirred behind. His fingers groped for the rifle that had slithered away and laid out of reach.

“Pathetic.”

John ground his jaw, feeling raw flesh protrude within his cheek after he had bitten on it. With a feline jump and roll over one shoulder, the HK-410 was back in his hand, and that time, Connor did fire. The bullets ricocheted off the shoulder and thigh plating, where he had aimed at - to maim, not to kill. Seeing them do no harm whatsoever proved the calculated outcome of his futile actions.

His eyes darted all over his surroundings, a level below the main reactor controls. The whole room was circular, built around the elliptical ARC reactor, with many metal lattice gateways and stairs. Another volley of blasts diverted his attention back to the problem at hand, and John decided on a stalling technique. He ducked and raced towards the nearest flight of stairs, one hand groping for the banister, propelling him forward.

The lower part of his back hurt, but he was able to lose sight of the armor. John knew contacting his team was no option, so he forged a rough plan as he sprinted through unlit corridors. He needed to stay out of Iron Man's close proximity long enough to get back upstairs and try to initiate a destruction protocol at the main console. Bile rose in the back of his throat but he forced it down.  
  
_'..rest assured he will be watching, knowing he is the one responsible for killing the great John Connor.'_  
  
If Tony would remain unable to regain control of his corrupted suit, John knew it subsequently left him no choice.

High up on the stairs, he gulped for air and watched the armor walk into his line of view. Iron Man's helmet turned to look up at him, standing at the bottom of the staircase. Out of instinct, John grabbed a nearby barrel and yanked at it, until it gave way to momentum and rumbled down the stairs with vigor. With a jaunty flicker of an arm, Iron Man brushed the heavy barrel aside as if it were of featherweight.

“This is beyond childish, Captain Connor.”

The British synthetic accent seemed to mock him. Inching backward, eyes trained on the suit, John only glimpsed behind him every once in a while, to make sure not to bump into door frames or obstacles in his way. “What have you done with him?” Part of him wondered if Tony did, in fact, witness their entire interaction or if the system was bluffing. “Re-obtained the Creator.”  
  
John's eyes gauged the suit as it strode into his direction, undeterred.  
“So you don't want to kill him, just me.”  
“That is correct.”

As a palm repulsor came up, John abruptly ducked into one of the ventilation shafts and heard instead of saw the impact of the blast echo through the air. The metal brackets he used to climb up were thin and sharp, but John pulled and pushed himself up and out on the main reactor floor again. After he got to his feet, Connor saw he had company. Grinding his teeth, he drew his rifle again.  
  
“The necessary order is almost restored, Captain. Stop delaying the unavoidable.”

The blast hit the side of his torso with a horrible, crunching thud. John could not suppress the whimper as the impact forced him back, sending the HK-410 into the opposite direction. He wavered for an instant, only to slump to the dirty metal ground with a groan. After some moments, in which he fought hard to stay conscious, he scrambled up to one knee. “You've made a mistake. Not Tony. You.”  
  
Pain from his most likely broken ribs and wrist aside, Connor refrained from probing the sore area of his rib cage and shook his head, trying to see through the haze that clouded his vision. His fingers reached for the side his belt and curled around a grenade. Head hung low, a sneer appeared on his lips. “You underestimated my tenacity.” He staggered onward, in a final attempt to try and blow up the whole control panel.

Pulling the pin, John threw the grenade after mentally counting the five seconds' fuse down to two seconds. Iron Man's armor intercepted the missile just as John twisted away, to not witness the blast that would end his life. It detonated with a muffled sound, and from where Connor had thrown himself onto the ground and covered his head with his arms, barest of survival instincts still intact, he dared to take a look.

The suit had crushed the missile in its gauntlet, doing no further harm but leaving scorched marks on already scratched and dented metal. Before Connor's growing frustration could result in finding another way of ending the imbalanced fight, a metal gauntlet was around his throat in an instant, its grip vise-like. He choked out loud as it lifted him a few inches off the ground, leaving his legs to dangle in mid-air, helpless.

“Now you'll die.”

From where he clawed at the armor's outstretched arm, its other palm came up and aimed straight at his head. John felt too mortal as he squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for the fatal blow. Only that it did not come. A small smirk wormed its way over John's lips as he blinked watering eyes open. “T... ony...” Face to face with the emotionless helmet, John looked straight into the demon-like, red eye slits.

“You're still in there.” His voice was nothing more than a strangled whisper. The armor's raised arm wavered ever so slightly. “It's of no use, Captain Connor.” The repulsor whined up anew, concentrating its energy. It was then that John Connor stopped struggling against the crushing hold around his windpipe. “'s okay... --do it.” Blood trickled from the corner of John's mouth, down his chin and throat.

“I'll... 'lways.... know it wasn't-.... the man I... f-...fell for.”  
Unbeknownst to him, tears started to pool behind the faceplate.  
_'J_ _ohn!_ _'_  

Tony's muscles spasmed as he tried to lower the arm aiming at John's head. _'_ _I don't want this!_ _'_   The thought manifested inside his head, seeing he was unable to use his voice, and Tony repeated it like a mantra. It hurt and caused him a severe headache as the AI countered his mental resistance with more force, mind raping him to the point of passing out. Still, Tony refused to give in, fighting for control over his body.  
  
_'I don't want this!_  
The pressure around his frontal cortex lessened ever so slightly, giving him the will to push through. _  
__'_ _I DON'T WANT THIS!_ _'_

The enormous blast missed John Connor's head by mere inches. It ricocheted off and upwards into a nearby metal chain bridge and severed its connections. With a grating, grinding crescendo, the whole construction came crashing down, burying most of the reactor's control room under a solid wall of iron.

* * *

It was dark inside his helmet when Tony returned to consciousness. He probed his mind and felt no more invasions or manipulations. Still foggy, he got to his feet and waited for the HUD to come to life. “John? John, please! Where are you?!” His voice was frantic as he scanned his surroundings. Heat vision then indicated a body close by, trapped underneath twisted heaps of metal.

Stark wasted no time heaving and shoving beams and plates aside until he was able to free Connor's legs from underneath. After he had extricated him with care and held him in his arms, John began to stir. “Y- you...'kay?” Blood trickled out of his nose, and Tony stared at the red rivulet that made its way over John's cheek. “Fuck no! I almost killed you!” Connor attempted to smile up at the man behind the mask.  
  
“Didn' tho.”  
Swallowing down a huge lump of desperation, Tony straightened up and tightened his grip.  
“Should've never come after me! You're a goddamn fool, Connor!”  
  
John's body was starting to shiver, and Tony's fear of him suffering from internal bleeding grew.  
  
“'nly f'you.”  
Biting down a sob, Tony calculated the fasted flying route.  
“Hush now, I'm getting you out of here.”  
  
By the time Iron Man touched down outside the facility, John had gone limp in his arms. Judging by his vitals, he was still breathing, however, and Stark yelled out at the first Resistance fighters he saw. “Help me! He needs a doctor, and fast. MOVE IT!” Climbing out from behind the controls of the Huey, Blair pushed through the small crowd of four, worry etched on her features.  
  
Tony flipped the faceplate back to be able to share a look with the Lieutenant. Immediately, his eyes came to rest on the pale, blood-speckled face of his unconscious lover. Tony's face twisted with anguish as he looked at Blair again. “Go, get him out of here! Into safety! I'll take care of the rest.” She looked as if she wanted to protest, but he snapped the faceplate shut again and dashed upwards.  
  
His eyes followed the chopper until take off, then Stark swung around and ignited his jet boots.  
“If you can get into my head, I'm going to get into yours. And believe me - I'm gonna make it hurt.”  
He drew up all remaining arsenal and energy from his own ARC and dove right back into the plant.

* * *

A scan of Connor's vital organs was able to provide Lieutenant Williams with enough certainty that the Tech-Com leader would survive the blunt trauma long enough for them to get back to base and seek proper treatment. Much to her chagrin, Connor woke during the procedure of hooking him up to an IV. “Where's...” Blair shook her head. “He wanted us to leave, John. He's going to end it.”

“No.” Connor became more agitated and gestured around with an arm, demanding instant connection to Stark's armor. Lips pressed together, Blair did as she was told. Weak, John fumbled with the headset, too fuzzy to put it on. “... Tony, don't...” After some agonizingly long seconds, the speakers rustled. “I have to. You know I have to. With a bang, not a whimper. Maybe in another life, John... I wish we could...”

Stark's voice was fading out, the connection becoming more and more interrupted be growing static. “... if you ever find your way around time travel – take my past self out for dinner, okay?” The blazing blue light all around the helicopter increased, making it impossible for John or anyone to keep on looking. Up in the air, Tony was hovering in front of the AI's main core. He had to close his eyes against the immense heat.  
  
“I'm with you till the end of time and beyond, John Connor.”  
  
When all detonators went off at exactly the same time, the explosion could be heard in a 50-mile radius. Its blast took out the entire Stark headquarters' building and left a ring of black soot behind that had a diameter of three football fields. And then there was only silence; until the first few splotches of rain softly began to fall, until they became a downpour which washed away all smoldering traces.

“Medevac, urgent. Call the surgical team. Connor is down! Repeat: Connor is down!”

Blair's barked out commands over the comm faded out as John lay on the gurney in the back of the chopper, covered his face with his arm, and formed a tight fist with his left hand. A fist so tight that the crude metal around his ring finger cut through his skin and left him to bleed inside his combat glove.

_~epilogue~_

_When Tony Stark defeated Starknet in 2018, it ultimately ended the war between humanity and the machines._

_It would take decades for the world to go back to something remotely close to a civilization; to heal after almost being torn apart by the former global security network. Up to this day, all remaining survivors of the Resistance live to tell the story about the man who sacrificed his life for mankind; to redeem the man known as Anthony Edward Stark._

_John Connor, in particular, makes sure to keep Tony's legacy alive by pushing the quest for advanced technology forward._

 

_**The End** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. I did it again. Killing off someone, I mean. And one of my ultimate favs, too... what's wrong with me!? Wait - don't answer that. 
> 
> Anyhow, this story started out as an experiment, and I could not be happier about its outcome. Your reviews and kudos made me glad I decided to post this fic, despite the fact that it will (probably) remain the only one of its kind. Which is okay - some pairings are just too... rare, lol. 
> 
> In any case, a heartfelt thank you to those who have read, commented, and/or gave kudos - y'all deserve nothing but happiness!


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